Pilfered Hearts and Plundered Dreams
by MuseDePandora
Summary: FINISHED! Mirkwood's a dark place, filled with dark people and intent. Elves hold the only lightness there. Can Legolas find something worthy in a dark soul?
1. How It Began

Pilfered Hearts and Plundered Dreams  
  
Author: Bella (musedepandora@yahoo.com)  
  
Short Summary: An untold tale of Legolas of Mirkwood and a thief of Men, overlooked between The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  
  
Main Pairing: Legolas / Original Female Character  
  
Rating: PG to begin with, later shall range between the higher ratings.  
  
Disclaimer (Applies to all chapters): Pilfered Hearts and Plundered Dreams is a work of fan fiction, written due to the authoress' respect and love for the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. The setting, mythology, creatures, and history of Middle-earth are borrowed. The plot devices and characters created by the authoress are her creative property. No profit is being made by the writing of this piece of fan fiction.  
  
Use of my Original Characters: With permission only. Just ask and you'll most likely receive.  
  
Archiving: With my permission only. Just ask, and you'll most likely receive.  
  
Special thanks to:  
  
Lopaka Tanu: Goddess of Misfortune, Muse of Inspiration. She's always there for me and I don't know where I'd be (or this story) without her.  
  
My mother: For her constant encouragement and support for all of my writings.  
  
All text written between *these* is translated from Sindarin.  
  
All text written between "these" is translated from Westron.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter One: How It Began  
  
* * *  
  
It had been a long and tiring day. The Elven hunting party had strayed further from their home and deeper into the forest than they had meant and had turned around to return a little too late. They were finally on their way back to the security of the stone walls, but were paying the price of their lack of thought and were being forced to travel back in the blindness of night.  
  
Most of the trip was spent in silence, not even their footfalls making a sound, in fear that it might taunt some unwelcome presence out of the bushes and onto the retreating party of Elves. When they were no more than two or so hours from finally reaching the security they desired, sounds of muffled laughter and foreign voices met their sensitive ears.  
  
Without a sound, the head Elf gave orders to his party and changed their direction; intent upon finding those who had dared to trespass on Elven territory. Not long, they came upon a small clearing that's ground was littered with figures bent in upon themselves, relatively close together.  
  
At least ten figures were huddled against the cold night air underneath different cloths; some not even with a blanket but wrapped in their own cloak. Avoiding brittle leaves that nearly covered all of the ground and sticks, the tall and nimble Elves encircled their prey.  
  
* * *  
  
A man, tired from the day's travels but too wary from tales of giant spiders and orcs, laid as quietly as possible underneath his coarse blanket. The night was quiet and by the sounds of the raspy breathing and light snoring, his companions had already found rest.  
  
He contented himself with looking up into the sky above him. Trees obscured the view, their branches reaching into the heavens like some greedy claws grasping for the small promising gems in the ocean of darkness.  
  
The man tried to slow his breathing that he had not noticed steadily rising to the point of exhaustion and abandon his former trail of thought. They had not come across trouble in their whole journey to this place. He was told horrible things about this forest and he had in turn had told his companions.  
  
He had alerted them earlier that night once again as they all readied themselves for bed.  
  
"Men have wandered onto these lands and were never heard from again." The man warned as he threw his pack on the ground. "If we walk on through the night, I think we shall clear these trees by morning. We'd be much safer to rest in the warmth of the sunlight on lush green hills -that I've been told are just a day's travel away. Not in this dismal darkness in the middle of these damned woods."  
  
"Scared of the dark, Margon?" They had taunted. Even the woman had laughed at him.  
  
Apparently they had been right and he had again been wrong. He should have gone to sleep or risk falling behind in the next day's hike, he knew that and tried to convince his body of the wisdom in it, but for all his might, he could not find rest.  
  
Chirping of a songbird met his ears and he let out a breath that he had not known he had been holding. The idea that a creature so pure and lovely as a songbird resigned in these forests lightened his heart and he closed his eyes hoping to hear the sound once again.  
  
His heart began to calm and his consciousness began to lull itself off to dreams of beautiful women and lively music when a thought came to him.  
  
What songbird sounds at night?  
  
He sat up like a bolt of lightening and was met face to face with an arrow that shined in the moonlight and heard as several bows around him were pulled taut. He whimpered to himself.  
  
He had been right, again. He hated when he was right.  
  
* * *  
  
The head Elf watched as the rest of the intruders were awakened, some shoved, most kicked into reality. He was rather sure of who these noisy and troublesome folk were but to make sure he walked over to the only one who had been awake and grabbed him by the hair.  
  
Ignoring the yelp of surprise, the Elf tilted the being's head to the side and looked at the rounded edge on the ear. He spoke to the others in their own tongue, the only word recognizable to their captives being the disgusted utterance of "Men."  
  
The tall Elf, whose hair shown in the moonlight, spoke with two others, apparently discussing what to do with these Men; whether to shoot them and be over with it or drag them along with them as their captives.  
  
Margon was sure that the former was in their favor when the Elves silenced suddenly and dared not move. Without thought, the group of Men found themselves doing the same. Margon startled when he heard the voice of the head Elf again but from across the clearing from where he had been. It was damn unsettling that a creature could move with such stealth, and damn unfair at that.  
  
He had spoken apparently to a tree on that end, in the tongue foreign to Men. The Elf waited a moment and Margon heard as a bow was pulled to the point of breaking.  
  
"I said to come down from your hiding." The Elf spoke again, this time in common, with a voice that was not deep but not weak at that: a voice that gave the harshness of common a touch of something finer.  
  
Again there was silence as they awaited a reply. His patience apparently gone, the Elf spoke again, harsher and with obvious annoyance.  
  
"If you do not climb down, we shall shoot you down."  
  
"No need, fair Elf." A voice harked from the tree. Margon smiled slightly to himself; he was glad that the woman would at least share their fate, as unkind as that was.  
  
"For I am but a tree." Silence ensued once again. That was a reply obviously not expected.  
  
"A tree?" The Elf called back.  
  
"Yes." She replied. "And, as a wise Elf, would you hurt an innocent tree?"  
  
"A tree that can speak in common and in the voice of a woman no less? I have never heard of such a thing." There was a slight humor in his voice. Perhaps he wouldn't kill them after all, Margon thought hopefully to himself.  
  
"Yes, I am a gifted tree. One that would be much obliged if you hurried on your way and left me to rest and enjoy the night's air and soft soil."  
  
"I can not do that." The Elf said. "I tire of this game. Come from the branches. I have humored you long enough, woman."  
  
There was a murmuring about trees in the branches and a slight rustle of leaves.  
  
"I thought Elves were nicer to their trees then this." There was no reply from the Elf. "Wise Elf, will you humor me once more? As a favor to this kind tree?"  
  
"Very well." The Elf replied after a moment of hesitation.  
  
"How many fingers am I holding up?"  
  
"I can not see. The night is too dark."  
  
"Ah." The tree replied. "Then how will you shoot me if you can not see me?" The voice ended on a rather satisfied note.  
  
There was no reply, only the sound of an arrow flying through the air. It stuck into the wood that the Elf knew to be immediately to the woman's left.  
  
"Right." The woman mumbled. "Coming."  
  
It took several minutes for the woman to climb through the maze of branches in the darkness. Feeling her way around, she had to guess as to which limb could support her weight, something that did not please her in the least. Having come along just fine, the woman thought herself lucky.  
  
Unfortunately the last limb before she would have safely reached the ground was still young and had yet to build its strength.  
  
In the darkness, a loud crack was followed by a painful thump. There was a moment where nothing moved as they waited for some sign of life. Right as Margon thought that the woman had broke her neck, there was a groan from the forest floor.  
  
"Ouch." Whimpered from the darkness.  
  
"Get up." The Elf ordered without sympathy.  
  
She whimpered again in response. "A moment, let me make sure my legs are still attached."  
  
"Let go of me!" She yelled indignantly.  
  
"You have exhausted our patience." The head Elf retorted from yet a different spot in the clearing.  
  
"Haven't you ever fallen out of a tree?" She asked, obviously groping for some sort of sympathy. Silence. "Stupid question."  
  
* * *  
  
The captives were led through the forest and into an underground palace. None spoke as they were pulled and pushed along, under the constant threat of impalement. Not even the woman who had before presented herself as being rather talkative.  
  
The hunting party wound its way through corridors and roads into great halls where Elves would step to the side and watch as the strange sight passed by them, whispering amongst themselves afterwards.  
  
Finally they came to a pair of great wooden doors, that were not solid yet more like a screen of roots formed solidly together. Shadows could be seen walking in the next room but the roots obstructed any clear views. The head Elf reached out a hand and stopped the group's progress. He went forward and spoke to the four guards by the doors.  
  
Apparently with the guards satisfied, the doors were pushed open and the tall Elf led them into the palatial room.  
  
Many Elves in fine garments were speaking to each other in small groups spread about the room. The hall was filled with their chatter, not an unpleasant sound to the Men's ears, quite opposite. The very walls seemed to be whispering pleasantly in the Elven language.  
  
As the hunting party and its captives passed, each group of Elves fell silent and watched. This caused the Men to become more nervous, even if they had not thought it possible. Eyes following them, watching their every move, caused many of their feet to pause, but they were swiftly pushed forward.  
  
At the front of the great room stood a group of Elves, dressed even finer than the others, speaking amongst themselves upon a platform raised slightly higher than the rest of the room. They fell silent as well when they saw the group approach.  
  
A tall Elf, who emanated importance, spoke elegantly to their head captor, who responded in turn with a slightly annoyed grin. An elder, who wore a fine circlet upon his golden head, spoke to the elf as well. The company that the two had, strayed to the side, all but one Elf woman who also wore a crown of the same making. The three stood in front of the room, carrying on a conversation that the Men present could not hope to understand.  
  
Feeling utterly uncomfortable, the Men sneaked glances at one another, though for what purpose they didn't know. They felt as if they would dare not speak to one another and perhaps offend their captors nor could they hope to escape. So they contented themselves with what little control they had, that of their eyes.  
  
"Who are you and why are you here?" The Elf that the Men took as royalty spoke, startling them out of their sole interludes. There were a few moments where the Men waited to see which of them would have the courage to speak first.  
  
"We are mere travelers, Your Highness." A man spoke. The group had never identified themselves a leader but this man was the closest they had, self- proclaimed as he was. "We made to cut through these woods in an effort to shorten our journey . . . to a human settlement close by."  
  
"Whither do you call your home?"  
  
"We are all from various areas, but we share one thing in common, Your Highness, we have no home."  
  
"You are well armed for 'mere travelers'." The less defined, though no less handsome, of the two male Elves noted, looking at the weapons that the hunting party had placed on the ground for their inspection.  
  
"The woods, as you surely know, can be perilous." The man paused a moment. "And most of the weapons are not ours."  
  
The king, as the Men had now deduced him as being, seemed intrigued and waited a few moments for an explanation. None came.  
  
"Explain." He ordered.  
  
"Most belong to the lady, Your Highness." The Elven King looked to the woman. She stood in the middle of the Men and seemed to be trying to hide in the midst of them. With a signal of the hand, she was pulled and brought to the front for the king's closer inspection.  
  
She wore a dress that went to just above the ankle, it appeared to have been a dark color in the past, blue or maybe a black, but now was faded. She wore boots, of good quality, as well. They were of soft leather and sewn up the whole way with dark pieces of what could perhaps be twine, though it had to have been stronger than it looked to not break from long wear. The top of the boots disappeared into the folds of her skirt.  
  
The woman was not beautiful, particularly by Elven standards, but she was not an orc either. Her hair was a generic brunette; nothing to cause any notice, it had natural highlights that were a dirty blonde. She'd obviously been out in the sun for some time. Her face was not thin but betrayed her age; she was still rather young, perhaps in her early twenties. It could not be determined in the lighting that glowed throughout the large room, whether her eyes were a brown or a more unique dark blue. Either way, she was nothing special.  
  
"The woman does not belong to your company?" The king asked, finishing his survey of the girl.  
  
"No, she wandered into our company a few days past, asking if she could join us until our paths diverged." The same Man explained, apparently happy to have the king's mind off him and his men. "We took pity on what we thought to be a defenseless woman traveling alone."  
  
"Thought to be?" He questioned further.  
  
"Well, she can't be too defenseless with all that weaponry, Your Highness."  
  
The king nodded his ascent and turned his attention to the woman once again.  
  
"Why do you carry so much weaponry?" The girl downcast her eyes under the pressure of the roomful of Elven ones.  
  
"I deal in anything I come across. Weapons are easy enough to find and hard to break, and if I come across danger, I should have my pick of defenses." She explained away, not raising her eyes from the floor.  
  
"It would seem to be a heavy commodity to travel with, especially for a woman, is it not?" The other Elf asked from the king's side.  
  
"Yes, that is a problem. I usually restrict myself to smaller weapons, such as daggers."  
  
"It is not safe for a woman to travel alone. Why do you choose to?"  
  
The woman finally looked up and met the inquisitive Elf in the eyes.  
  
"I deal alone, so I travel alone." She stated firmly.  
  
"What should we do with you?" The king seemed to muse to himself, while the Elf to his side still held the woman locked in the eyes. He finally looked away from her and to the king. "Legolas, what would you have us do?"  
  
"It serves us no purpose to have them executed; they appear almost innocent." Legolas mused. "I would have the lot escorted out of Mirkwood as soon as possible. If it were my decision, father."  
  
"Please, not with them." The girl murmured to herself. She had forgotten about the Elves' keen sense of hearing and immediately regretted it.  
  
"Why do you not wish to continue in their company?" The Elf, obviously a prince of some sort, asked. He seemed amused, which relieved the woman somewhat. At least she wasn't going to loose her head, yet.  
  
"The blundering fools are the reason I was caught." She answered. Mistake, she knew it. She should not have said that.  
  
"So you regret not trespassing in our woods but being caught?" She bit her lip in thought. The whole room was quiet, waiting, waiting to see how big of a hole she had dug herself into.  
  
"Matters on which one will get me executed." She answered truthfully.  
  
"Well, Lady . . . I don't believe you have told us your name."  
  
"Probably not going to get it. I haven't the habit of introducing myself to strangers." Her jaw dropped and she slapped a hand over it. She couldn't believe what she just said, when it was easy enough to give them a faux name. Damn her foolish tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited. The woman had always morbidly wondered what it felt like to have an arrow rip through her flesh. She waited, yet felt nothing. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw the Elf's lovely face graced with a highly amused smile.  
  
"I am King Thranduil." The elder Elf introduced. "This is my queen, Sabriel." He motioned to the so-far-quiet Elf beside him. The dark beauty smiled in greeting, causing the woman before them to fidget underneath the queen's gaze.  
  
"And this is our son, Prince Legolas."  
  
The Elf slightly inclined his head in recognition. Somehow, the woman felt as if she were being played with, and it angered her.  
  
"Now that we are no longer strangers, your name, fair lady?" The prince asked. Yes, she was sure that she was being played with. She scowled at the situation. Suddenly, she felt trapped, she had known that she was captured before but now she felt suffocated. She couldn't leave if she wanted to, and she definitely wanted to.  
  
"I am not a lady and surely am not fair. You may call me whatever you wish for my name is of no value." She retorted back in a tone that she realized was probably not in her best interests.  
  
"You would think that we have insulted you, nameless woman that you wish yourself to be." King Thranduil seemed to have lost his patience, one of the many things that the woman was gifted at pilfering. "We have not set out to do so and I do believe that we have treated you kindly. All that we have asked of you is your name."  
  
"Her name is Yonna, Your Majesty." A man spoke up from amongst his peers. The woman rolled her eyes; she just was not able to help herself. Margon had been a constant annoyance to her since she came across him. She even had had fantasies of feeding him to an orc. A self-satisfied smile seeped on to her lips at the thought.  
  
"Or so I've told you." She muttered.  
  
"A name is a simple thing, why are you so secretive about it?" Legolas asked. He slightly turned his head to the side, like some sort of animal- a bird perhaps-, when he was curious. Interesting, the woman noted.  
  
"If it is such a simple thing then why not call me Dog or Flower. My name is my own, the first and only gift given to me. It is to share with whom I please."  
  
"I believe we have swayed far enough off what is prudent." The king brought to everyone's attention. "I will think over what to do with you, and will inform you at my leisure."  
  
"Until then, you shall have accommodations."  
  
* * *  
  
Accommodations: perhaps not the best of words to describe where they were thrown, or more like pushed, into after their interrogation.  
  
The woman, who had yet to disclose her name, was put into one of the two cells with half of her male companions. They spent days there, which passed extremely slowly and were rather humiliating for the woman.  
  
She went about her day and business, under the constant eye of Men and Elven guards. At times, she would have slit her wrist for some privacy. But to top it all off, she shared the cell with none other than the nitwit Margon.  
  
"Yonna."  
  
She looked up, knowing that the man was referring to her.  
  
"What?" She snapped.  
  
"I was sitting here, thinking -since it's really the only thing we have enough room to do in here. And do you know, I think King Thranduil was about to let us, even escort us, on our way until you opened your mouth?"  
  
"It took you this long to figure that out?" Another man asked sarcastically from the other cell.  
  
The woman tried to ignore him. She knew that he was trying to start a fight and she was not in the mood. In fact, she was already highly annoyed from the closed quarters. Instead of responding, she dug her back further into the corner where she was sat, focusing her mind on the feel of the stone digging into her sensitive skin. But he would not be dissuaded.  
  
"Did your mother never teach you how to speak?" He continued. She looked up, her self-control gone.  
  
"Your meaning?"  
  
"Women are not supposed to speak insolently. It's every mother's duty to teach her daughter how to act like a woman. Obviously your mother forgot." He was trying to goad her into an outburst. She knew it and smiled. It'd take more than that.  
  
"Oh, believe me, she tried." The woman smiled to herself and leaned her head back against the wall.  
  
"Well, if I had a daughter like you, I wouldn't try hard either." He laughed throatily to no one in particular. "Of course, if I had a daughter like you, I'd drown her."  
  
"I'm sure if you had a daughter, she'd drown herself." She murmured without thought. The woman heard a laugh that was obviously trying to be suppressed. It was one of the guards. Good, she thought, at least some one is enjoying themselves.  
  
"Didn't a Man ever teach you what a woman's mouth was for?"  
  
The choked laughter from the guard stopped. Slowly, the woman lowered her head until she was glaring into the man's eyes.  
  
"Why don't you show me?"  
  
"That's it for you, woman!" He bellowed as he crossed the small room and grabbed a hold of her by the shoulder of her dress and hoisted her up against the wall until her toes barely touched the cold stone floor.  
  
The men in the room were immediately on their feet and the woman remembered hearing their voices yelling; whether in encouragement or otherwise, she didn't know. Her mind was too fixed on the matter at hand or rather the man whose hand at that moment mattered.  
  
She pushed against him as hard as she could but was not able to escape his grip. He pressed her shoulder so hard against the wall that she distinctly remembered hearing something pop.  
  
The woman kicked and pushed with all her might but Margon was the stronger in body of the two. He kept hitting her against the wall, like a strong ocean current that wouldn't stop its beating of the girl. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of the shooting pain in the back of her neck, and suddenly he stopped.  
  
She opened her eyes and saw the wide green orbs of Margon staring at the wall behind her. There was a dagger held to his throat.  
  
The cell was completely quiet. Men's voices were no longer hollering. Fearing she had been knocked deaf, she drew in a deep breath and was relieved to hear it as well as feel it.  
  
"Let go." A voice she had heard before ordered firmly from behind Margon. The man obeyed and let go of his grip on the woman. He was pulled away from her and slammed hard against the wall, revealing the man behind the dagger, or Elf, as that may be.  
  
To be honest, she was still recovering from having the wind literally beaten out of her chest to be too surprised at who had pulled the man away from her.  
  
The prince looked deep into the man's eyes a long moment, daring him to move, before reaching a hand out in the woman's direction. Two other elves, armed as well, had the rest of the Men with their backs against the opposing walls.  
  
"Come." He told and she complied. The Elf removed the dagger from the Man's neck and took a hold of the woman's elbow. She pulled it out of his grasp and put a tentative hand to the back of her neck. As she feared, she felt something warm and wet meet her touch. She cursed under her breath.  
  
She was pushed out of the cell, the prince following close behind.  
  
"I could've handled it. I should've handled it!" She announced with illogical anger, looking at her hand and the blood on it and then back at the still open cell. "In fact . . ."  
  
The woman stormed back into the room. The two Elves holding the men at bay with long swords, looking to their prince for guidance. But he slightly inclined his head, watching what was to come.  
  
She stopped and stood in front of Margon for a moment. She tentatively placed her hands on the Man's shoulders and dropped her head as if she were about to break out into sobs. Instead, she placed a well-guided knee into the man's lap. A satisfying crunch and high-pitched yelp echoed between the stone walls. Margon's eyes watered as he fell to his knees.  
  
The woman bent down and took his head between her hands, placing a gentle kiss on the top of his mangled hair, before throwing him against the wall and letting him fall unconscious to the floor.  
  
After leaving the cell, satisfied with herself, she let the prince guide her down the hall and into another room.  
  
* * *  
  
The room was much larger than that of the cell she had spent all of the past few days in, and for that she was thankful. A fire in a stone hearth warmed the room and sent red and orange hues upon the walls.  
  
"No guards?" The woman asked skeptically.  
  
"I believe I can handle one woman. Please, sit." He moved a hand towards an armchair by the fire, before he pulled up another and sat himself so that their knees were nearly touching.  
  
She watched as Legolas leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. It was now that the woman realized that he still held onto the dagger that he used to stop Margon. He examined it in his hands and held it up so that she could see it in the light of the fire.  
  
"A beautiful blade." The prince's eyes never left her face, sure to not miss a flick of an eye or twitching muscle. "Of Elf design and Dwarf forging. Metal is of respectable quality. But of course it is."  
  
"Lord Elrond would not entrust his guards with anything less." He watched as her eyes momentarily downcast to the floor before returning to his own. Dark blue; in the fire, her eyes were dark blue.  
  
She tried to act as nonchalant as possible. The woman reached a hand behind her neck and came back with yet more blood. She hadn't thought she was hurt that badly. Apparently, neither did the prince. He stood from the chair and disappeared into a dark corner, returning with a tattered cloth.  
  
Legolas pushed her braid aside and looked at the wound. She moved a way at first but relented when he cast his eyes down at her in a reprimanding manner. He pressed the cloth to the wound. She jerked away, ignoring the slight pain of the act, and pressed her hand on the back of her neck, resuming the pressure on the cloth herself.  
  
The prince pulled the dagger back out of his belt and sat down.  
  
"How did you come into possession of this dagger, Yonna?" He twirled the handle back and forth within his hand and watched as the light reflected off it and onto the walls.  
  
"My name's not Yonna. I told you."  
  
The Elf sighed and placed his arms to his sides, the dagger firmly held in his right hand. For some reason, the woman found herself scared that she might be in harm's way. But he looked at her across the short expanse with eyes that seemed dark yet bright in the fire of the room, and she didn't think that he would hurt her. At least, he didn't desire to.  
  
"You truly wish me to call you Dog or Flower?" Legolas questioned, arching a dark eyebrow.  
  
She did not answer but looked to the fire. It looked so warm and at first inviting; of course, she had spent the last few days in a cold cell. But as she stared deeper into it, she became deeply unsettled and found herself pleased to be interrupted by the prince.  
  
"Give me your hand." He ordered, reaching forward, keeping the hand with the dagger at his side.  
  
"What?" She looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
"Do you always attempt a long winded argument over the smallest of requests?"  
  
But she knew that this was not a small request. She knew why he wanted to see her hand and what he expected to find, and would find. But in the end, what would come of her refusal? Nothing. If he truly desired to, he could do what he wanted.  
  
Slowly she leaned forward and placed her right hand in his. He seemed surprised at this but did not question her further. Instead he turned her hand over and saw what he knew he would.  
  
Vivid in the light of the fire, was an Elven rune upon her wrist. It was a pinker shade and thicker than the rest of her skin. Burned into her otherwise flawless skin was a mark of her kind.  
  
"You are a thief." He stated matter-of-factly, letting go of her arm and leaning back in his chair. "You must be gifted at your art to pilfer from an Elf."  
  
"You compliment your kind." She replied, a playful smirk on her lips. "It was as easy as to steal from a Man . . .All that is needed is a diversion."  
  
"You forget that you bear a mark on your wrist, given to you by an Elf that was not so easily diverted." He responded in an equally playful voice. Though she found it to be too unkind to be fun.  
  
Her face fell and she looked at her wrist. She still remembered the pain and embarrassment.  
  
"I was young." She whispered. The Elf's eyes searched her face, as if he could read her thoughts.  
  
"Perhaps, it was too harsh for one so young."  
  
"No." She corrected. "I learned from my mistake."  
  
The woman smiled deviously and leaned back in her chair, taking the cloth away from the back of her neck. The bleeding had stopped and there was no more need to fuss over it in her opinion.  
  
"I haven't been caught since."  
  
To her surprise, he smiled back.  
  
"Until now."  
  
Her smile faded.  
  
"What are you going to do?" She paused and stretched out her left arm. "Going to put it on this one, too?"  
  
"No." Legolas' eyes fell back to the blade he held in his hand. "It just complicates matters further."  
  
The prince stood and walked a short distance across the room, towards the door that they had entered. For a moment, the woman's heart had jumped into her throat at the idea of returning to her cold quarters.  
  
He turned around, and looked her over a moment, his eyes lingering on the bloodied rag.  
  
"I don't believe I can return you to your cell." He placed the dagger underneath his fine brown cloak.  
  
As he came forward, the woman stood impulsively. Legolas reached out and took a hold of her elbow, guiding her towards another door on the opposite side of the room.  
  
"I will find you some accommodations."  
  
"Hopefully not like your father's."  
  
He smiled kindly at her. She took this as meaning that he didn't understand that she was serious.  
  
"No, you have my word, Yonna."  
  
"Amoran." She whispered. He looked at her inquisitively. "It's my name . . .I promise."  
  
* * * 


	2. They Come To An Agreement

* * *  
  
Chapter Two: They Come to an Agreement  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran found herself to be much more pleased with the prince's idea of accommodations than she had dared hope. She did not know whether to consider herself lucky, or insulted.  
  
The room was far more spacious than she had ever been accustomed to living in. The stone walls were lined with a tapestry, made from a fine material. To think that they lined their walls with better material than she had ever dared put on her body. The tapestry showed scenes of high mountains and strong streams, green valleys and a never-ending ocean.  
  
In the middle of the room was a bed, large of course. Amoran smiled to herself at the thought that she could probably fit four of herselves under those covers. It was topped with a heavy comforter that felt to be filled with down, hued a dark green, leaves stitched on randomly in golden thread that shined in candle light.  
  
This of course would not cause her to be insulted. What did was the fact that the prince had set her in the room with no more than one guard outside the door, and from Legolas' words, she could've thought that he was there more to protect her than to protect them. As if she were no more of a threat than a lost child!  
  
She wasn't planning to make for an escape or attack the guard, but it was the thought that counted. And they obviously thought her weak; she didn't appreciate that, though it did have its advantages.  
  
There was a fireplace, similar to the one where she had spoke to the prince after her clash with Margon. At first she had been looking forward to the warmth, and waited for some one to light a fire, but no one ever came to do so. Instead, she spent the night cuddled under the heavy blankets for warmth, which still gave more than she was accustomed.  
  
By the time she fell asleep, she was sure that they feared her capable of using a fire to overcome the Elven guard and seize the palace. A fanciful thought for sure, but she fell into a somewhat comfortable rest with the feeling of being respected, of being strong.  
  
She awoke early the next morning, at least for all she knew, out of habit more than anything else. The woman had blown out the candles during the night and found herself now awake in a completely dark room. There were no windows to let in any sunshine and though Amoran could grope around the room in a search, she was sure she would find nothing to start a fire.  
  
So she waited, annoyed and a little anxious, merely sitting there half- heartedly expecting for something to happen. Amoran had thought about finding her way to the door and asking the guard for some light, but she dismissed that. She really did not want to ask anyone for help, the woman knew it was foolish but that was how she was. Amoran didn't want to seem needy, poking her head out the door like a tiny child looking for her mommy. It didn't hurt sitting in the dark anyway; she did it quite often. The best thinking and planning happened in the dark, so maybe it was a blessing that there was no one there to interrupt her.  
  
A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. The door opened, not waiting for her reply, and a shaft of light threw itself upon the ground and cut into the darkness. Three shadowy figures entered the room. Amoran crawled out of the bed with as much speed as possible and pushed herself against a dark wall. She could hear their whispers, and wished to be able to understand them.  
  
Candles were lit around the room and the woman was finally able to make out her visitors as being more than intimidating shadows. They were Elven men, all armed and with an ever watchful eye placed upon her. After they were done, the room was well lit and they took their leave.  
  
Amoran did not have long to think about this before the door opened again and another guard stepped through. To her surprise, an Elf maiden followed behind carrying a pitcher in her hands that shined ivory in the light, and a robe over her arm. She smiled when she caught Amoran's eyes.  
  
"Good morn." The Elf woman waited for a reply, but none came, so she stepped further inside, allowing the outside guard to close the door behind the two new visitors.  
  
"I am pleased to see that you have already awakened on your own." She spoke and traveled slowly to a table set on the other side of the room from Amoran, against the wall. The Elf sat down the pitcher upon its surface and placed the robe beside it. "I had feared that I would have to wake you personally."  
  
She turned from the table and stood without a word. Both women sent an appraising eye over the other. The Elf woman had hair so fair that Amoran was not sure if the color in it was truly her own or was cast from the little fires lighting the room. She was very thin and at least a head taller than the woman, clad in light blue fabrics that hugged her body and pooled around her feet in such a lovely fashion that Amoran suddenly felt very embarrassed with the quality of her own attire.  
  
"My name is Lireal." The silence broke. "And I am told that you are Amoran."  
  
The woman slightly inclined her head in confirmation and watched as the Elf woman walked toward her across the room. As she passed the guard that stood between them, he sent out an arm to block her path. She uttered something to him in a whisper and continued on her way.  
  
"King Thranduil wishes to speak to you before the morning meal. I have been sent here to ready you. You have spent several days in one of our cells and uncountable more in the forest; I have brought warm water and clean robes." Slowly Lireal reached out a hand. "I do not believe you will harm me and I will not harm you. So must we waste more time with tentative posturing and heavy tongues?"  
  
Amoran thought a moment about the Elf's words and finally walked past her, and the outstretched hand, towards where she had sat down the pitcher and robes. Lireal sighed but wasted no time following the woman across the room.  
  
* * *  
  
"NO!" Amoran's outburst was surely heard through the thick walls and down the outside corridor.  
  
"Amoran."  
  
"No!"  
  
"Please."  
  
"No!" The woman stood in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped about herself protectively. The ground she stood on was inclined downward more than the rest of the floor and had a drain carved into it, right below Amoran's bare feet. "Not with him in here!"  
  
Lireal looked to the guard, who raised an eyebrow in turn and leaned against the wall, his hand never straying far from his long sword. The Elf looked back at the woman.  
  
"It is the king's orders that he stay."  
  
"I am not stripping like some filthy tart, whether it be Man or Elf in my company. I do not know, nor care, what you think you know of my kind, but I will not lower myself to such depths!"  
  
"I speak truthfully," The guard spoke for the first time in Common, "when I say that I shall draw no pleasure from the sight."  
  
Amoran's jaw slowly dropped as she looked to Lireal who returned it was a sympathetic gaze.  
  
"Perhaps not the best chosen of words," the Elf maiden turned to the guard, who looked back innocently. "But his meaning is pure."  
  
"Please, Amoran." Lireal walked forward and took a hold of the woman's shoulder, slowly turning her around. Amoran grumbled and shot the guard what she hoped to be the iciest and most intimidating glare she had in her arsenal.  
  
"It's in your best interests that the water is not too cold." The woman warned, taking off the leggings that she wore underneath her dress.  
  
"It would have been warmer if you would not have taken to arguing whilst it cooled." Lireal berated, pulling the dress from the grasps of the woman. Falling from trees, attacked by Men, stripped under the watch of Elves; Amoran vowed to never return to Mirkwood ever again. Ever.  
  
* * *  
  
The sound of the doors being opened into the Great Hall interrupted King Thranduil and Prince Legolas' conversation. They had been debating on the wisdom of the king's decision with what to do with the human girl found in their woods.  
  
Legolas would never cross his father's decisions, but they often did speak with each other over different aspects and outcomes that could arise. His father believed that if two sets of eyes could see more than one, than two minds were no different.  
  
The woman that had entered their presence only days before was escorted before them once again. Each of her elbows was held in one of the hands of the two guards that walked beside her.  
  
Prince Legolas had visited the woman just yesterday but was sure that if he did not know better, he would not have recognized her as the same woman. Her garments were no longer old and faded but clean and vibrant. The gown that Amoran donned was a blood red that reached the floor in length. Her hair had been taken out of the long braid she had had it secured in and was loose about her shoulders; it was darker and glistened in the light from the open balcony behind Legolas, obviously still wet from her morning wash.  
  
"Good morning, Lady Amoran. I hope you fair well?" King Thranduil asked as the guards stopped a couple yards from the Elf's feet, halting the woman as well. With a bat of Legolas' hand, encouraging the guards to move away, Amoran was freed from their grasp.  
  
"Well enough." She answered, making sure to not let her eyes fall to the ground as they did the last time she had met with the King of Mirkwood.  
  
"I have spent these last few days pondering what to do with these Men that have wandered into my people's land." He paused as if the conversation was on a note that needed no haste and he had all the time he wished to continue. Though it did not please Amoran, he could have waited for all of eternity and she could've done nothing about it. "And I decided it best to have these Men escorted out of Mirkwood as soon as I could utter the command."  
  
"When shall we leave?" Amoran asked. To her annoyance, a small smirk crossed Prince Legolas' features as he watched her.  
  
"You shall not." King Thranduil corrected. "This is my judgment for the men. You are a different matter."  
  
The woman's brows furrowed in confusion but she quickly trained her face and tried to look only mildly interested. Pushing misguided strands of hair away from her face- annoyed as she was that it was untied and set loose- she attempted to focus on the king's words. Hopefully this time, she would not get herself thrown back into that cell.  
  
"My son has told me that you are a thief, branded no less. How long have you taken to this art?"  
  
"Art?" Amoran softly smiled, glancing to the Prince before returning her gaze to the King's. "Elves claim to have no liking for thieves, to the point of branding those accused and sometimes worse. Yet both you and your son have referred to it as an art."  
  
"Though unrespectable as it might be, it is an art. It takes skill and practice to become a thief. One must hide in the light, have a crafty mind to fool the most wary, and a cold heart to take from the kind. Yes, it is quite unrespectable, and how long have you practiced it?" King Thranduil moved from where he stood and circled Amoran, looking her over head to toe, causing her to become further at unease.  
  
"I was no older than a girl. I have perfected my skills over a decade."  
  
"I am not convinced . . ." The Elf stopped his examination of her and looked down at her face. She blinked but did not look away. "Are you sure, Legolas?"  
  
"Quite." The prince answered. He smiled to the woman in a content manner and continued speaking to his father. "If you must proceed with this tradition- dare I call it one-, she could play her part, with guidance, of course."  
  
Amoran squinted her eyes at the Elf. She could barely see him over the king's shoulder but by the fact that his grin grew, she knew he could see her annoyance.  
  
"I wish you to acquire something for me, Lady Amoran." King Thranduil spoke. She turned her attention back to him.  
  
"You want me to steal?"  
  
"Indeed." Legolas confirmed.  
  
"What is it?" She asked, watching as the king retreated out onto the balcony.  
  
"A sword, from my brother Lord Brilthor."  
  
"You would steal from your own brother?" Amoran folded her arms over her chest and waited for the King's reply, swift in return and sharper than she had expected.  
  
"I do not steal!" King Thranduil corrected harshly, in a tone that surprised even his own son. "The sword belongs to me. I wish it returned . . . It was given to me by our father. You can understand that it thus has emotional significance."  
  
"Yes." Amoran confirmed, in a voice that sounded oddly soft to her. She cleared her throat and continued. "But my services do come at a price."  
  
"I offer you your freedom after the sword is returned to me. Until then, you shall have a roof over your head and food in your stomach. That should be more than enough payment."  
  
"Yes, it'll do." She sighed dramatically, throwing her hair over her shoulder, bringing her mind back to the morning's events. The King and Prince smiled, when they did so she could notice the strong resemblance between the two. "That is if I am not led around by the elbow every place that I go, trapped within these stone walls -I feel as if I shall go mad with this imprisonment, and if I do not have to wash in front of a male guard."  
  
The king paused and pondered her requests, sharing a glance with Legolas, the meaning of which she could not decipher. Finally, he sighed and spoke again.  
  
"And how do we know that you can be trusted not to harm my people in one way or another?"  
  
"Because you have my word." She answered.  
  
"The word of a thief is not renowned for its value." Prince Legolas stated. Amoran was not taken aback by this, but had expected it.  
  
"You have my word if we have an agreement. I have never broken a pact in my life, and don't intend to in the future." She spoke with a steady voice and her eyes never left that of the king's. "I am a thief, I shall not deny it, but that does not mean that I do not have some honor left in this body. If we come to an agreement, I shall not break it. And you can trust me, as much as you can bring yourself to trust this thief, to not harm you people 'in one way or another'."  
  
"Very well." King Thranduil sighed. "I have many duties to attend to. With this in mind, I have put Legolas in charge of your training. You shall do as he says, for it is part of the agreement. Do you agree to this?"  
  
"Up to a point, if he tells me to jump off a cliff or hop up and down on one foot, I shall not make a fool out of myself."  
  
"To a point it will be then, but I decide the point."  
  
Amoran nodded her head in concession.  
  
"Then I will leave you in Legolas' care. I have kept my other responsibilities waiting already too long."  
  
With that he quickly left the hall, leaving Prince Legolas and Amoran alone with two guards.  
  
"What did he mean by 'training'?" The woman asked.  
  
"One of the greatest difficulty." Legolas swallowed a smile and tried to look as serious as possible. "We shall endeavor to make you into a Lady."  
  
"Such insults," Amoran grumbled, "to think that I could ever be so half- witted."  
  
* * *  
  
In the days that passed, Amoran, or Lady Amoran as she was now forced to answer to, was put through various tortures in the name of courtly expectations. She had not seen a shadow of Prince Legolas since the day that Amoran came to an agreement with King Thranduil. Instead she had been put into the care of many maiden elves, one of which being Lireal.  
  
She was tutored from on how to stand down to what level and tone of voice would be expected of her. But she did not loath these lessons in comparison to when it came time for her to be fitted into new dresses, becoming a Lady of Status.  
  
"It is no wonder Ladies speak little and only then in whispers." Amoran had her hands against a wall for support, as two of the maidens wrapped fine silk tightly around her waist, "It is for they are more concerned with mustering the air to breathe!"  
  
The woman tired of the constant censorship and corrections that she was put through and at several times wished no more than to pounce on one of the Elves whose care she was left in when they would tell her to "stand straight", "keep legs together", or that she "must refrain from borrowing the cutlery."  
  
No matter how rough or agonizing the days were that passed, she did not allow thoughts about quitting to enter her mind. At times, it was difficult not to become offended, tired, or emotionally strained but she tried to think of each day's trials as a personal challenge, and she never would let herself quit with that thought in mind. No, she would make heated remarks or sly comments to her tutors but she would still listen to what they told her and store it away for later reference.  
  
She was not told any more details of the agreement made with the king. That unnerved her, at times, greatly but she had had no choice but to concede to his desires. Amoran was not to be fooled, she knew that she was truly under the will of her captors. The woman now washed in the morning without an Elven guard's eyes on her back but she still knew that they were there, watching. Just because they stayed a few feet from her door changed nothing. This did not please her at all.  
  
Amoran had not left her room since she met with the King and Prince and thus was becoming more and more uncomfortable with each passing day. For almost a decade she had spent her life wandering from place to place, more often than not sleeping on the forest bed and bathing in the cool waters of a clear river. Now she was forced inside walls that made her a prisoner. Amoran desperately wanted out and on several occasions had expressed this desire to Lireal.  
  
"Soon, Lady Amoran." She would tell her, placing a pacifying hand on the woman's arm.  
  
"Soon is too far away. I need to leave these walls now; soon will not suffice." Amoran paced the room as Lireal set their lunch on a small table. The woman smacked a wall hard with the palm of her hand and quickly damned the wall for the pain it pressed upon her.  
  
"It will have to. Now, come and eat with me so that I may see how well you remember your lessons."  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran awoke to a day not unlike any other of those that had recently passed. Lireal had arrived and had the room lit. The woman was dressed, in a gown that she despised the least, and was prepared for what lay ahead.  
  
"What tortures must I endure today, Lireal?" She asked, helping the Elf make the bed.  
  
"That of my company." A voice came from the doorway. Amoran turned to see Prince Legolas standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
"Elves are a sly people." The woman mumbled to herself, finishing with her covers. Legolas raised an eyebrow at the comment. "Tell me . . ."  
  
"Your Highness." Lireal inserted for her. Amoran rolled her eyes and continued.  
  
"Have you had much practice sneaking into ladies' bed chambers unheard, or is it a gift?"  
  
"Good morn to you as well." The Prince greeted with a look of amusement that made Amoran want to slap him. "Good morn, Lady Lireal."  
  
"Good morning, Your Highness." She slightly curtsied, head bowed  
  
"So, that's how it's done." Amoran said. Legolas looked to her, puzzled. "You see I was just confused until now. I couldn't figure out how a woman could speak and bend in one of these dresses, at the same time."  
  
"I've been told that you are anxious to leave these walls." Legolas changed subjects. "If you wish, we shall do just that."  
  
Amoran swiftly made for the door. With her hand on the knob, she responded, "Shall we go now?"  
  
"Soon." Lireal answered, walking to the table beside the wall. Amoran growled.  
  
"I loathe that word!" The woman clenched her hands into fists.  
  
"First you must don a cloak, winter approaches, and it is needed to dull the wind's bite." Lireal helped Amoran put on the cloak.  
  
"Shall we go now?" Legolas opened the door and the woman was out quickly without a word. He smiled to the Elf woman and closed the door behind himself.  
  
She returned to straightening the bed covers and gathering the materials that she had brought that morning. The door opened suddenly and Amoran's brunette head appeared.  
  
"Good bye, Lireal." The woman smiled quickly before vanishing back behind the door and down the corridor.  
  
Lireal returned to her duties. Amoran was a strange woman, she thought. In the beginning, she had feared that she had not made a wise decision when she had told Legolas that she'd help him with her, but now, she wasn't sure. She had not decided whether she liked the woman or not. Amoran had an innocent charm that made Lireal want to protect her and made the woman's playful nature seem completely natural. Being around her could be exhilarating, or exhausting. At the moment, she did not have to worry over the human; she was now Legolas' problem. She smiled at the thought.  
  
* * * 


	3. A Morning Stroll

* * *  
  
Chapter Three: A Morning Stroll  
  
* * *  
  
The day was indeed cold and the wind sharp as Legolas and Amoran escaped the walls of the Mirkwood palace. Beams of light, still in the warm hues of a new day sun, broke through the many branches of trees and laid upon the ground as sleeping children would, encompassed in bright blankets, hiding from the day and trying to sneak into the shadows for a few more moments of rest  
  
Legolas strolled down the stone veranda, the spring in his step giving the illusion of contentment. He seemed unfazed by the late fall chill or by his company, who walked a few steps behind him, at an intentionally sluggish pace, her eyes surveying as much as she could see.  
  
She watched Elves as they passed her and their prince, bowed heads in respect to the latter, critical gazes in curiosity and sometimes disapproval of the former.  
  
A large group of youthful Elves stood in a close-nit gathering in the center of one of the gardens, which were to the side of the walkway that the prince and thief were taking. They spoke together excitedly; many smiling faces warming the cool morning air. Amused laughter flowed from the gathering and the prince smiled to himself.  
  
"You are quiet, have you taken ill?" Legolas asked, turning to face the woman. She looked to him indifferently and kept walking.  
  
"No." Amoran answered plainly.  
  
The Elf nodded his head and moved to keep up with her. She stopped when she heard laughter from the youthful gathering again.  
  
"What are they talking about?"  
  
Legolas folded his arms and gazed at the sight from beside her. He gave her a sidelong glance and answered.  
  
"The festival."  
  
"Ah." She began to walk again, leaving the garden and its occupants behind as they entered a latticed walkway, its flowers and their once lively leaves already dying back in anticipation of a harsh winter.  
  
"They shall be performing. I expect it to be lovely but of course it always is." Legolas looked to the woman, as she gazed at two Elves, the male playing gently with a fold of the others skirt between two fingers. "Perhaps you'll even be able to enjoy the festivities."  
  
"You don't want me at large gatherings." She mumbled, observing as the Elf woman pulled out a red fruit, round in shape and easily held in her hand, from a piece of fabric between them and showed it to her partner. He muttered something that made her frown, for a moment, and they both stood.  
  
"You are being well kept after . . ."  
  
"You make me sound as a horse." Amoran interrupted to the prince's disapproval.  
  
"There is no need for you to practice your craft." Legolas spoke, seemingly unaware that the woman's eyes had not left the couple who were now walking towards them. The Elf woman placed the red fruit in a sling of fabric she had tied over her shoulder and had resting against her hip. Amoran's attention returned to her Elf companion, who had been speaking to the wind for all the benefit it made to Amoran's ears. "A thief steals quite often because their life depends on it. Yours, for the time being, no longer does. No, you would not commit an act without need."  
  
The whole time the Elf spoke, Amoran never took her eyes off him. Her eyes searched his and he searched hers in turn, unsure of the intent behind the sudden enthrallment she had in his features. It was if the world around her disappeared and her gaze softly delighted in his every movement.  
  
As Legolas ended his statement, Amoran's footing faltered and she stumbled into the Elf and her partner. The female Elf was so surprised that she would've fallen to the ground had her companion not been swift in support.  
  
"Oh! I'm so sorry. Please forgive this clumsy woman." Amoran apologized profusely as she regained her composure and swiftly returned to the prince's side, half-hidden behind him as if to hide herself from the embarrassment.  
  
Legolas spoke to them softly in what the woman was sure to be an apology or explanation. With a disapproving glare, the two continued on their way. The prince looked to Amoran in an analyzing manner. She frowned and wrapped the cloak about herself.  
  
"My feet were numb." She answered his unspoken question. His eyes didn't relent, and she sighed in turn. "I'm only a mere mortal!"  
  
The woman walked off, each footfall landing on the ground heavily, even for her kind. Legolas didn't move but watched her. She stopped and pounded one foot several times against the ground, as if trying to awake it.  
  
"Are you coming? Or can you not be seen with me now that I fell on a lady?" Amoran questioned, her cloak still wrapped around her with her hands hidden in the warmth within. "Maybe if I fall on you, they'll throw me out of the woods."  
  
"You are acting differently." Legolas spoke as they came to the end of the latticed path.  
  
"I get antsy indoors, so what you've seen of me isn't worth much." She replied. "I want to know more about this deal I've come to with your father."  
  
"What do you wish to know?" The path gave way to open forest and they stood in a small clearing.  
  
"What's expected of me?"  
  
"You are to steal a sword from my uncle."  
  
"Yes, yes. That's all well and good, but why must I frolic about in a dress and curtsy before doing so?" Legolas smiled and looked about the trees as if the conversation was barely holding his interest.  
  
"If by frolic you mean trudging, and by curtsy you mean falling . . ."  
  
"There's a difference?" Amoran teased, keeping her gaze before her, therefore not witnessing the prince's smile widen.  
  
"Because you and I are to enter through my uncle's front gates as guests. It would be thought strange for me to bring anything with me less than a Lady."  
  
Amoran burst out into laughter.  
  
"Oh and it shan't be strange that you just happen to bring one of my kind with you in the first place?"  
  
"Not if it is thought that my father had taken you to repay a debt to a man, who long ago offered us aid." The Elf explained away, crouching down to the ground and lifting a brittle leaf from its surface. Amoran squinched her face in thought.  
  
"You are at ease with the thought of stealing from no less than your uncle?"  
  
Legolas began to crunch off pieces of the leaf as he spoke.  
  
"No . . .you see, it is not entirely as it appears." He stood, dropping pieces of the shriveled leaf as he did so. "There is no true malice involved. It is more of a game, for lack of a better word."  
  
"A game?" The woman asked, while looking over her shoulder. Legolas glanced where her eyes fell and found nothing, apparently hers did as well as they returned to the leaf in his hand.  
  
"In a manner," He resumed, "There was a disagreement long ago, very long in mortal terms, between the two. Their father had left his sword behind with the message, 'to he that touches it first'."  
  
He dropped the rest of the leaf and wiped the remnants from his hands  
  
"Both claimed to have done so?" She guessed, beginning to slowly walk around the edge of the clearing, every once in a while stealing glances into the trees.  
  
"Very good. How did you . . ."  
  
"It's just like brothers, of any kind." She smiled warmly, not in a manner the prince had witnessed before.  
  
"You speak from experience. How many have you been made to suffer?"  
  
"Both laid claim to their father's sword; what happened to it thereafter?" She spoke as if she had not heard his previous words.  
  
"I know not who started it for, though I respect him greatly, I do not believe my father's memory unclouded by time, or something else. One took the sword from the other, in response the other took it back. Over the years, it has been traded between their hands a thousand times. Every decade or so, one takes it back from his brother, by one means or another. It has grown to a fond form of play between them. Something familiar that binds them over the strain of land and time."  
  
"Will he not figure the reason behind our visit?" Amoran asked as she stared into the branches of a particular tree, taking special interest in it for no apparent reason.  
  
"I'm sure he will." Legolas confirmed, glancing down the pathway they had came with a despondent interest. "I believe he will put light security around the sword, nothing to truly impede us but still enough to not make it a gift. We should be received warmly."  
  
"We?" She looked away from the tree for a moment. "It sounds as if you are to come with me."  
  
"I am. I wish to visit my uncle."  
  
"Oh. I thought perhaps you feared me filching it and running on my merry way." She wiggled her eyebrows playfully. Legolas returned it with a look of seriousness that for some reason or another the woman did not fear.  
  
"I don't believe you, Lady Amoran, would be so dim-witted as to do so."  
  
"Yet you call me 'Lady'." She looked back into the tree.  
  
"I have many I call friend who answer to that title. I would prefer if you would not insult them undeservingly."  
  
"Good enough." She looked to the tree's trunk and the roots that stuck out of the earth within a radius of it. "If you don't call me 'Lady'."  
  
"That will not be difficult. And why do you examine that tree so?"  
  
She placed her hand on the trunk and looked to the prince before her.  
  
"I think I fell out of one of these." Unlike most the trees that surrounded the clearing, the tree's branches were exceptionally dense and its foliage was not changing color in accordance to the weather.  
  
"Yes, Nichae told me." Legolas crossed his arms around his chest, appearing quite amused, as one would witnessing an animal chase its own tail.  
  
"I suppose Nichae is one of those who caught me." Amoran spoke, not so amused at the memory.  
  
"He is the leader of the Hunting Party."  
  
"Ah. Tall, very skilled with the bow?"  
  
"That must be him."  
  
"And many others." Amoran added. "He was not too kind to me."  
  
"You are a trespasser; I'd be concerned if he had been."  
  
The woman smiled and moved away from the tree.  
  
"Yes, we all have our places."  
  
Legolas bowed his head in agreement.  
  
"Come." He urged, his hand outstretched towards their former path. "Let us find a warm meal."  
  
"You are hungry?"  
  
The prince paused a moment, wary of why she would ask, then answered affirmatively.  
  
"Then take this." She tossed him a small red fruit, round in shape. He looked to it inquisitively. "So that you might survive the trip back."  
  
Amoran bit her lip in an effort to keep a straight face, but she could not help but let it slip as she felt the familiarity dawn upon him.  
  
"That was quite unladylike." He admonished, now walking beside her, fruit in hand.  
  
"I know." She bit her lip again. "Just because I know how to act like one, doesn't mean I shall do it."  
  
"You must be an utter headache for Lady Lireal." Prince Legolas concluded as he made a mental note to have an apology sent to the matron that Amoran stumbled into, and to Lireal.  
  
* * * 


	4. Breakfast with the Prince

* * *  
  
Chapter Four: Breakfast with the Prince  
  
* * *  
  
"How can you stand it?" Amoran sat at the table in her room with Legolas across from her holding a goblet. He looked to her inquisitively over the rim and she continued. "How can you stand living under the ground like this? I always thought Elves more for the open spaces, trees, and such."  
  
"I understand." He sat down the goblet, which was now nearly emptied of the dark burgundy liquid it was once filled with. "Necessity demands that we live under the ground in the midst of cold rock and stone."  
  
The woman nodded while pulling a piece of bread apart, wiping the remains of egg yoke with it, and placing it in her mouth. She smirked when she saw that the prince had watched her do so.  
  
"But we have made the best of what we have been given." He continued. " Subterranean gardens and safe respites above, such as the one we walked this morning, help dull the sharp bitterness of the stone walls."  
  
"Even then, I don't understand how you can stand the darkness." She stood and reached across the small table. Amoran took a hold of a golden pitcher and filled her goblet half-full. "I've spent my share of time in the night, of course, but I've always preferred the safety of the light. Even to the point of sleeping during the day."  
  
She paused for a moment and then refilled Legolas' goblet as well.  
  
"Thank you." The Elf took the golden goblet from her hand and set it back on the table.  
  
"I would expect as much from a Child of the Sun." He noted, taking a piece of bread, tearing it and running it through the yoke on his plate as Amoran had previously done. She raised an eyebrow, which was returned with an innocent glance from the prince.  
  
"Strange. For a people who detest mine so greatly, Elves have many names for us, Child of the Stars."  
  
Legolas' hand stopped, as it carried the soaked piece of bread to his lips. He placed it back on the plate.  
  
"Elves do not detest Men." He stated plainly, looking her in the eye.  
  
"Is that so?" Legolas inclined his head. She continued. "I do not agree."  
  
"You are not an Elf."  
  
"Yes, but I am of Men. I know. I've seen." She did not meet his eyes but watched her hand as it played with the fine cloth that was sprawled atop the table. "You avoid us and when you are in our presence, you speak in whispers. In a language you know we simple folk do not understand. You sit in our taverns, in the corners, watching as we drink, conversing under hoods so we can not even read your faces. You barely tolerate us."  
  
"You assume."  
  
"No," She sighed, "I've seen."  
  
"Perhaps you see what you wish to see." He leaned back in the chair, placing his arms on their respective rests.  
  
"I have no wish to see such things." She looked up to him, meeting his eyes.  
  
"As I have no wish to discuss such things." Legolas stood from the table, pushing the chair back from behind him.  
  
"So you shall run from what you don't want to hear." She stood up as well.  
  
"Good day, Lady Amoran." Quickly he strode across the room towards the door.  
  
"And now you punish me?" She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him firmly.  
  
"No. I have duties to attend to." He grabbed the knob.  
  
"Aye. And what am I supposed to do in this tiny room?" She asked, picking up a piece of bread and playing with it in her hands. Legolas paused. "I am bored near the point of delirium."  
  
"I am sorry, but I have no answer." He began to open the door, "But I shall ponder on a solution."  
  
With that he left. Amoran stood for a short while, staring at the back of the door. She took a bite of the bread and sighed. The woman walked around the room for a time she could not measure, taking small bites as she went along, before finally stopping in front of the foot of her bed.  
  
"Damn Elves!" She grumbled, throwing the remaining bread against the innocent door. Amoran threw herself upon the bed, turned on her stomach and screamed in frustration at the top of her lungs.  
  
The door opened without preamble and an Elf entered. He looked about the room, a hand on his short sword. Amoran rolled over at the sound of the door and shot up into a seated position.  
  
"Did you scream?" He asked. She gave a short glance over him.  
  
"No!" Amoran snapped at him, before taking a great breath and throwing herself back face down on the bed, and resumed screaming.  
  
The Elf stood dumbfounded. After a few moments she stopped and slowly pulled herself off the bed and stood. Amoran pushed the wisps of hair out of her face and straightened her dress.  
  
"I'm done." She stated, out of breath. "I'm Amoran . . .What's your name?"  
  
The Elf guard looked over her as if she were mad, but she only smiled in return.  
  
* * *  
  
Lady Lireal entered Amoran's room, and stopped without taking a further step as she saw that the woman was not alone.  
  
"Hello, Lireal." Amoran chirped from where she was sitting, behind the small table she'd had breakfast over with the prince. The guard Lireal knew to be responsible for watching the room stood beside the chair opposite the woman. "This is Aegnor."  
  
"Yes, I know." Lireal left the door open and walked over to the two. Her gaze was heavy upon the Elf, and his eyes fell to the ground though he did not bow his head to follow.  
  
"Do not blame him." The woman interrupted the exchange; she held a golden goblet between her hands. She rolled the object back and forth in her grasp, as if it were a toy. "He was keeping me company."  
  
The lady was about to speak, but Amoran spoke before she had the chance. "I screamed. I don't know what came over me or what I would've done."  
  
"I was just telling him a joke," Amoran continued, standing and walking over to Lireal, "An Elf, Dwarf, and Man walk into a bar."  
  
"Amoran." Lireal held up a delicate hand to stop her.  
  
"He didn't think it was funny either."  
  
Lady Lireal turned to the guard, who had yet to move, and whispered to him in Sindarin. He bowed his head and left the room, closing the door behind him.  
  
"He's nice." The woman sat down the goblet and turned back to the Elf. "He has two daughters. Do you have children?"  
  
"What did you take from him?" The Elf maiden folded her hands calmly before herself.  
  
"I resent that." Amoran stood before her, eyes locked with the other's. Lireal's gaze failed to relent. "Nothing. He kept me company and has my gratitude."  
  
"In truth?" The woman was interrogated gently.  
  
"Aye."  
  
Lady Lireal moved passed her and began to clear the breakfast table. Amoran sat on her bed and watched.  
  
"Legolas told me of your mischief this morning." The Elf woman spoke after she was almost finished. There was a humor in her voice that let Amoran know that the air was cleared of any suspicion.  
  
"Tell me, Lireal, what is your relationship with the Prince of Mirkwood?" The topic was deftly changed with a suggestive emphasis on 'relationship'. Lady Lireal turned and raised a delicate eyebrow to the woman's question.  
  
* * * 


	5. For the Love of Fat Fish

* * *  
  
Chapter Five: For the Love of Fat Fish  
  
* * *  
  
The air was cold and still; harsh fall winds from the woods outside quickly died when attempting to enter the safe underground harbor the Mirkwood Elves called home. White flames brought soft light to the otherwise dark surroundings. All about was stone walls, soft dirt ground, unoffending light, and beauty that over time had been brought into this refuge.  
  
Benches laden with pillows of fine fabrics sat in the stone corridors; the walls carved intricately to resemble trunks and boughs of the large trees outside. Trees they once lovingly called friends but that was before the Darkness descended.  
  
Not to be mistaken, Elves do not fear night. But they do fear Darkness, the lack of everything. They fear not the night sky for it bears them the stars and moon that they so fondly sing of and observe. Yes, they were called the People of the Stars for a reason. But there were no stars to be seen in Mirkwood, safely that is. One could travel in the dark forest and walk or climb until they reached where cool and fresh air met one's face but the risk was so great. Though it did happen, it was a rare occasion for an Elf to attempt it. King Thranduil cared for his people and long ago had cautioned against and even prohibited it without his personal consent. And so the Elves of Mirkwood dreamt of the times when their home was not Mirkwood but Greenwood the Great and took some comfort in the fact that though they could not see them, the stars and moon were still there, and were still shinning brightly.  
  
With such thoughts, it was no wonder that the Elves were often caught in melancholic moods. It was difficult to move on when they were still loving what's gone, and some parts of them never did. But there was no choice and when one of these infamous moods came upon them, they took to their feet.  
  
Thus it was not unusual to find many Elves walking the numerous and intricate corridors, indoor gardens, and pools, paying silent homage to the sorrows that put great weight on their minds. Some would choose to group together and comfort each other with song and tales, and others would choose to stay alone, listening from a distance and making no sound themselves, as if they were paintings upon the walls or beautiful statues upon the benches.  
  
Each night was the same. And from a distance, looking over everything, yet nothing in particular, the sight of graceful figures moving about aimlessly would remind some of caged animals, knowing what's outside and thinking if they walk long enough they will become tired and forget. Others would see Elves, walking the night as they always do.  
  
On such a night, Legolas had taken to the main garden outside the primary walls of what was the palace. Looking upward, he saw the balcony that flowed out from the Great Hall that royal matters were taken to when his father wished to impress or intimidate. Beneath it a large fountain stood out in the middle of the clearing. Water trickled down the layers of rock into the bath below, where small colorful fish of light hue, having never been privy to the matters of the bright sun, scuttled and swished about ignorantly. Many took great pleasure in the small creatures and would be seen sitting on the edge and dropping their fingers into the water's surface. No matter their mood, a small smile would brighten their features as one or more of the fish would rise to their touch and lay kisses on their fingertips. They knew it was in expectation of food, but that was a conveniently forgotten fact, but the fish were always rewarded for their efforts before their visitor would leave. They were really quite fat fish.  
  
The little garden was laden with flowerbeds arranged about the fountain, and their blooms, though growing back in expectation of the cold, were still bright, if fewer. These beds were surrounded by stocky bushes and thin trees that's boughs intertwined with those of their neighbors, keeping from view the various corridors that opened out upon it. Legolas leaned against one of these trees, hiding from the keen sight of the others present. He watched as many an Elf walked past him unknowingly and tried not to listen if they chose to speak quietly to themselves or another. It was a public garden, anything said was not intended to be kept secret.  
  
*And here stands our fair prince, betwixt thorn bush and a hard place. How appropriate.* A whisper of a voice made her presence known.  
  
*You find appropriateness in everything, Lireal. Had I been standing on my head speaking in Dwarf tongue, you would say the same thing.* Legolas teased, rousing a wide grin on the maiden's face.  
  
*What a grand sight you would make.* She noted, watching as he tip toed out of the garden, sure to not disturb a single blossom.  
  
*It shall never happen.* He sent her a pointed look. *I would never reduce myself to Dwarf tongue.*  
  
She nodded her head and began to walk; he quickly matched her pace, at which point she slowed down. Legolas sighed dramatically.  
  
*I have been looking for you nearly all night.* She remarked, stopping before the fountain. He stopped as well.  
  
*I went to search for Nichae earlier, but not finding him, I took to this garden, and have been here since.* Legolas smiled at her meaningfully. *I suppose you know not where he hides? *  
  
*Hides?* She played with a piece of hay between her fingers. *No. But I know he did take to the stables earlier, saying that even if no other cared enough to keep him company, his horse was always there.*  
  
Legolas smiled softly. *You must have been there with him to have heard this. Are you not company enough for his liking? *  
  
She tightened her lips into a line and focused on the bit of hay. * Dramatics.*  
  
*Do not take his play too seriously.* Legolas sat down on the edge of the fountain. Lireal remained standing.  
  
*I was trying to have an intelligible conversation with him.* She murmured, letting the hay drop to the ground.  
  
*He is rarely in the mood for such things at night. You know this.*  
  
*I did not wish for the matter to wait till morning, but it seems it must.* She said softly, watching the water trickle down behind Legolas.  
  
*Do you wish to speak with me about it?*  
  
She smiled and sat down beside him.  
  
*No.* She let her hand dip into the water, though she did not let her eyes fall in as well.  
  
*As you wish. Though I will be here if you decide otherwise.*  
  
Lireal nodded and allowed a small smile to grace her features.  
  
*You are a good friend, Legolas. And I think very highly of you.*  
  
His lips slightly turned downward. And he feigned deep thought of a different kind.  
  
*And Nichae?* Legolas watched as she drew invisible circles in the water, with the fish swimming just underneath, waiting for her hand to steady.  
  
*Nichae . . .* She murmured his name in thought. *I think very highly of him, as well.*  
  
They sat in pensive silence for long moments, both thinking on the same terms but in different ways. Legolas was the first to break the stillness of air.  
  
* You must have come here with a purpose.* He spoke in a voice that seemed loud after the silence that it followed. *I know you did not wish to merely sit by my side through the night. Or speak to me of Nichae.*  
  
*You brought up Nichae.* She interrupted.  
  
*I did not.* He rebuffed indignantly.  
  
Silence.  
  
*Very well.* Lireal sighed softly. *I did come here with a purpose. But you know that I would be content to sit by your side for the longest of nights. I have done so many a time in the past.*  
  
*Not of late.*  
  
*Dramatics!*  
  
Legolas smiled coyly, irritating her slightly more. *Not all play is to be taken seriously, Lireal.*  
  
*And not all seriousness is to be taken as play, Legolas.*  
  
*Truce?*  
  
*Truce.* She pulled her hand out of the water. Legolas could feel the disappointment emanating from the few fish that remained where her hand had been, hopefully. *You made a promise to Amoran, four days passed.*  
  
Legolas raised a hand to his brow. *I had forgot!*  
  
*She has not. Though I thought you might have when I heard you make no mention of it.* Lireal rose from the fountain's side. *I thought it best to remind you.*  
  
*I shall take care of that soon.* Legolas promised, standing up as well.  
  
*Good. The sooner, the better. The last two days I've seen a glint in her eye that unsettles me.*  
  
Legolas furrowed his brow in worry. Before he could ask Lireal continued.  
  
*Not that I was in harm's way. I had a strange feeling as if she was barely restraining herself from tackling me and making for the door. Now that I think about it . . .* She trailed off for a short while. *What's the harm in letting her wander a bit? A guard could even follow her a short distance away and she would not know. Her eyes and ears are not as keen as ours.*  
  
The prince raised an eyebrow suggestively.  
  
*A thief wandering about the Palace?*  
  
*And gardens. Yes.* Lireal began to slowly walk away.  
  
*We can not allow her to run around as she wishes, pilfering all the while. Though she is small, it is quite a wonder the damage one thief can do if given the chance.* Legolas stood where he was, watching as the Lady paused at a corridor leading away from the garden.  
  
*I suppose, but . . . where is she going to go?*  
  
Legolas pondered a few moments. He understood her meaning and she did have a point.  
  
*My Lord.* Lireal bowed her head, which he returned, and she took her leave.  
  
Prince Legolas stood in the garden a short while longer, before following where Lireal had left, but taking the other direction; the one that led to his father's study.  
  
* * * 


	6. Keeping a Promise

* * *  
  
Chapter Six: Keeping a Promise  
  
* * *  
  
The surviving embers of what had been a lively fire crackled in the hearth. Small wisps of light played about the stone floor, crawled over the fine rug, and climbed up the side of the grand bed that the woman now claimed as her own.  
  
Amoran laid on her stomach, her hands clenching the sheets beside her, with her face towards the dying fire. Her eyes were closed, her lips dry and ajar, and a muscle twitched on the side of her throat every few moments.  
  
There came a knock at the door and she pressed her mouth shut and held her eyes blind to the world with more vigor. Another rap came and she opened one eye. There came another as she climbed out of the bed.  
  
"Coming!" She announced in a cranky tone, rubbing her face with both hands.  
  
"You'd think with eternity on their side, they'd have a bit more patience." She grumbled into her palms.  
  
There were only two options of who could be standing on the other side: Lady Lireal or Aegnor. Not Legolas. No. She gave up hope of that many visits ago. She opened the door swiftly.  
  
Aegnor.  
  
He held a tray, on which were several items placed. She reached over, grabbed a piece of toast, and stuck it in her mouth.  
  
Amoran walked over to her bed with a grumble that sounded somewhat like, "Hello".  
  
"Good morning." The guard greeted cheerfully, a smile on his face. "I see I've caught you in a good mood this lovely morn."  
  
The woman sent him an un-amused glare as she sat slumped in on her self on the edge of her bed. This stirred a laugh out of the Elf.  
  
"Well, you should be." He continued, placing the tray on the table to her left. "I come bearing gifts."  
  
Aegnor picked up a couple of items from the table and walked over to the woman. After dropping them in her lap, he took to lighting the candles about the room, replacing the spent ones with new.  
  
"What's this?" Amoran asked, raising an item into the air.  
  
"A book."  
  
She gave him her best of looks: one eyebrow raised, the other lowered, and her face was completely lack of humor. Amoran learned it from a mentor long ago and now took favor to it in times when she knew she was being ribbed.  
  
Aegnor gave her an innocent smile. A favored look of the Elves, Amoran noted. It was hard to hate them when they did that.  
  
"There's a letter as well." He continued, sitting at the table. "The book's in Common Tongue, rather unusual to find in Mirkwood. Most do not speak it, none the less read it."  
  
"Everyone I met has." She took a seat opposite the guard, letter and book in hand, toast in stomach.  
  
"Many were assigned to you because they knew Common. I, myself, usually am a guard that accompanies merchants when they must travel outward for goods we can not produce. On such travels, I've learned your tongue and that was an asset the king required for your guard." He explained. Amoran nodded her head in understanding.  
  
Aegnor rose from the chair.  
  
"Where are you going? Please don't leave me alone in this box!" The woman interrogated, sounding a bit more desperate than she would have liked.  
  
"My shift is over and I am to have breakfast with my family this morning." She groaned, but the guard continued. "If you need anything, my replacement is outside the door."  
  
"By the time the King lets me out of here, I will be a fat hag that will do him no good." Amoran whined, reaching for the other half of toast. Aegnor got to it first and took a large bit.  
  
"That's mine!"  
  
He stopped at the door, and smiled back at her. "You want it back?"  
  
"Keep it." She said. "Now go, you meddlesome Elf!"  
  
Aegnor nodded and disappeared out the door.  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran left the book and letter alone as she went about her breakfast. They sat to the side of her plate and she looked at them from time to time. Finally, she took the last bite of egg and could ignore them no longer.  
  
She picked up the book, took a quick look over the pages, and closed it with a huff. Amoran threw the item to the side and picked up the letter. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the paper, and flattened its creases meticulously.  
  
After a few moments, she ran her eyes over the paper. The loops, dots, and lines of the writing were beautiful to the eye, and she looked over it several times again. Finally giving up she rose from the chair, the letter in her right hand, and made for the door.  
  
Outside the door, she found that there indeed was another Elf standing guard. He was slightly shorter than Aegnor but he was almost a head taller than Amoran. The guard looked to her questioningly and she suddenly realized that she was still in her nightgown.  
  
She shook the thought; she wasn't going to don a silly dress just to talk to him. Amoran cleared her throat, and raised the parchment to eye level in front of her.  
  
"Can you read this?" He slowly reached out and took the letter from her hands. She waited, her eyes looking about her surroundings, trying not to be impatient.  
  
"Yes." He answered after looking over it. The guard refolded it and tried to hand it back to her.  
  
"Please read it to me." She requested, pushing it gently away from her. He looked at her for a moment, with eyes Amoran did not like at all. He was wondering why he had to read a letter to her that was written in her own tongue, and she knew it. The guard nodded his consent and opened the letter again  
  
"Dear Lady Amoran," He began, "I must apologize that I have yet to seek you out after my promise. It was ill manners on my part and I hope you shall forgive me this. Along with this letter, I have sent a book that holds several tales of your people. Hopefully these will curb your boredom for a short time. Of course, you will eventually finish the book and so it is not a permanent answer. One is needed since you shall be staying with us until spring."  
  
"Spring!" Amoran exclaimed. The guard paused for her patiently but quickly continued.  
  
"I can not imagine the discomfort of being confined to a room for that amount of time, so how could I ask this of you? I can not.  
  
I have spoken with the King and he has granted you permission to move about without my presence. There is a condition: you must not steal. If you are caught in the act or with the fruit of it . . ."  
  
The woman began to snicker at that line.  
  
"you shall be confined to your room until we leave for my uncle's home."  
  
She stopped.  
  
"My father is quite adamant, reasonably so. Do not test him.  
  
If you wish, you may ask your guard to escort you to the North Garden this morning. Lady Lireal and I shall be there, and we would enjoy your company. I hope these arrangements are to your liking. If you have any suggestions on how to ease your stay, please ask. Yours Sincerely, Legolas."  
  
"Good." She took the letter back from the guard. "You can read it."  
  
Amoran folded the letter back and held it in front of her. "Will you take me to the North Gardens?"  
  
"Yes, my lady," He answered, "I will be waiting while you dress."  
  
She looked down and remembered. "That's acceptable."  
  
Quickly she went back into her room and found the simplest gown she could. With Lireal in the gardens with Legolas, there was no one to sew her into the more complicated ones. Though she liked how she looked in the beautiful garments the Lady dressed her in with such care, she preferred the comfort and versatility of the simpler ones that she had found stowed in a drawer underneath her bed.  
  
It did not take her long to dress and she was soon being escorted to the Northern Gardens, which she was pleasantly surprised to find was one of the outdoor refuges that the Elves would take to during the day.  
  
* * * 


	7. Sharp Words and Heavy Blades

* * *  
  
Chapter Seven: Sharp Words and Heavy Blades  
  
* * *  
  
The morning sun shone brightly down on the large rectangular clearing known as the Northern Garden. Its name was slightly deceiving, as it was a poor excuse for a garden; no flowers bloomed in sight. Towering trees and large boulders surrounded the area.  
  
Located at the end of the clearing, lengthwise, stood several circular targets made of dense wood and painted with numerous rings spreading out from the center. These targets were riddled with varying amounts of arrows. The arrows' tails, decorated with dark blue feathers, ruffled in the breeze that drifted over the top of the golden, blood red, and brown leaved trees and descended on the clearing.  
  
Legolas stood on the opposite end of the garden, his bow on its end in front of him, an inch or so deep in fallen leaves, with his hands resting lightly upon its top point. Next to him stood many Elves, a count of five, each lining up their shots and releasing their arrows at various times.  
  
The constant hiss, whoosh, and final plunk of the arrows sounded constantly in the air. Legolas stood with his eyes unfocused skyward. A maiden sat behind him and to his left upon one of the smaller boulders.  
  
She spoke intently to a kindred at his side, who was assessing his previous shots.  
  
*I have not done so badly in nearly a millennium.* He muttered, leaning on the boulder beside the maiden.  
  
*Everyone has their bad days, Nichae.* She consoled, glad he had not seen her cringe behind him as his shots swerved from their target.  
  
*It's not your fault.* She added.  
  
*Indeed.* He grumbled. *It is yours.*  
  
*Pardon me?* Lady Lireal asked, annoyance in her voice. Legolas snickered to her side.  
  
*I had perfect aim until breakfast.* Nichae avoided her eyes as she sought out his.  
  
*You are the one that put it off until this morn. I am not at fault for that . . . and I am not appreciative of your tone.*  
  
*I am sorry.* He apologized after a brief pause, finally meeting her eyes. *You did not deserve it. Forgive me?*  
  
*Yes.* She granted with a smile. Legolas watched the exchange from the corner of his eyes. His thoughts were interrupted as his sensitive ears heard the crunch of heavy foot falls approaching.  
  
A couple minutes later, on the path leading to the garden appeared a guard; his feet making little sound on the brittle leaves. Behind him came the source of the sound, her feet crunching leaves and sticks each time they hit the ground. She cringed every time; aware of the great racket she was making. She was obviously trying to be light on her feet like the Elf leading her, but it was no use. Men really were such loud creatures. Though in the company of his people, they often tried to imitate their stealth. Like a child following an older sibling. It was endearing in a manner, Legolas thought to himself.  
  
The air was suddenly void of sound but her footsteps as all of the Elves' attentions were focused on the approaching maiden. Their bows were to their sides and their eyes watched her feet as they came down heavily on the forest bed. No Elf was so loud.  
  
"Good morning, Lady Amoran." He greeted with a kind smile. Her eyes looked about his company, falling to the floor at the many disapproving glares. They were hunters, and they valued light feet.  
  
"I have heard you in the distance for some time." Legolas began. Amoran wiggled uncomfortably but raised her eyes to meet his.  
  
"How unkind to have me waiting in such anticipation. Now that you have arrived, it is lovely to share your company. Please." He indicated the set of boulders that Lady Lireal sat upon.  
  
Amoran allowed a small smile. "Thank you."  
  
"Good morning, Amoran." Lireal greeted as the woman sat where Nichae had once been, the hunter now stood a short distance away, at Legolas' side.  
  
"Good morning." Amoran replied.  
  
Legolas indicated the Elf that stood to his left. "This is Nichae. You have met before."  
  
Nichae bowed his head slightly in greeting.  
  
"Ah, yes. Hello." Amoran greeted. "You have an excellent shot."  
  
*Not today.* He grumbled.  
  
"What?" The woman questioned. Lady Lireal placed a hand on hers and leaned over to whisper in her ear.  
  
"Do not mind him. He is in a mood."  
  
"I heard that." The Elf said, taking out an arrow and lining up his shot. This inspired the others to return to theirs as well.  
  
Legolas walked over and leaned against the boulder beside Amoran. He moved over in much the same way Lireal had and whispered in her other ear.  
  
"He has had trouble all morning." He explained. It felt strange to have him so close. Amoran noted that Elves didn't seem to treat personal space in the same way as Men. They chose to sit and speak much closer to each other and their very prince seemed to have no trouble speaking so close that his lips nearly touched her ear.  
  
"Ah." Amoran responded, reflexively moving a bit away. Nichae released his shot.  
  
The arrow sliced through the air crossing the great distance across the clearing in the time it took to draw a breath. With a plunk Amoran did not hear, it stuck deep into the wood three inches from the center. Nichae made a sound low in his throat.  
  
"That's not bad." Amoran noted, squinting to make out the arrow over the distance. Nichae practically growled. Legolas gave his friend a sympathetic look. Nichae grumbled a few choice words causing Amoran's eyes to grow wide and she snickered.  
  
"One would think you knew what he said." Lireal noted. Legolas nodded in agreement.  
  
"I did not think you knew Sindarin." He added. Nichae took out another arrow, ignoring the conversation behind him, and studied it for defects. Perhaps, the arrows were crooked.  
  
"I don't. Not really." She explained. "But I know some of the more colorful terms. Had so many yelled at me in the past."  
  
"That's not proper behavior for an Elf." Legolas said.  
  
"Indeed." Lireal agreed.  
  
"Perhaps, they were having one of their bad days, Lireal." Nichae muttered, sending the Lady a small smirk. She returned it.  
  
He lined up his shot and was just about to release when Amoran spoke suddenly.  
  
"Just imagine it's a young maid in a tree."  
  
The distraction caused his hand to jerk just the slightest as he released the arrow into the air. All four watched as it flew swiftly across the distance and embedded itself deep into the center of the target. A large grin grew across Nichae's face. He pulled out another arrow and released it the same. It followed the previous, right into the center of the target.  
  
He shouldered his bow and fell to a knee taking Amoran's hand in his.  
  
"Thank you, my lady!" He said, before pressing his lips softly to the top of her hand. A lost expression fluttered over her face, as she didn't know what to do.  
  
"Come, Nichae." Legolas said, cupping a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let's see how you fair at sword play this morn."  
  
Amoran softly pulled her hand from the Elf's grasp and brought it to her chest with her other. Nichae rose and the two walked a few paces away from the maidens, to where several long sword waited.  
  
"How strange to go from being at the receiving end of an arrow to the receiving end of its master's gratification." Amoran whispered to Lireal. The lady smiled coyly.  
  
"They can all be enchanting when they want to be." Lireal whispered back.  
  
Both women turned and watched the two Elves, now several feet away, as they went about a faux fight. They moved in rehearsed arcs and swings that the other knew to be coming. Amoran cringed each time their swords clashed, metal on metal; a sound less easy on the ears than the arrows that still flew through the air.  
  
"So I'd fair to bet." Amoran responded, the words barely audible, her eyes never leaving the sight. Her mind didn't even truly notice that she spoke the words aloud. Lireal paid it no heed and kept her attention on the dueling Elves.  
  
Elves fought different than the Men she had seen clash swords with each other in the past. Their style was based more on speed and creativity, and less on brute strength, though she could tell they had a fair arsenal of that as well. Yes, she concluded as she had many times in the past, it would be folly and mortally wounding to rise hand, or sword, against an Elf.  
  
Minutes passed and the fight began to become more intense, more strength was put into each blow, more heart, as well. She found herself strangely intrigued when she spotted a look of surprise cross one of their faces as the other made a move they did not plan. She could not later remember who was the first to be surprised and who was the second, in turn, but soon each advance was unexpected by the other.  
  
Nichae would swing and jab at the prince in a manner that caused Amoran to hold her breath and Legolas in turn would avoid the sword nimbly and return the blow. The arrows stopped and their masters turned to the sight. Amoran could feel a tension grow in the air, a tension that should not have been there.  
  
She found herself wondering what she should think of the fight, wanting to turn and take her cue from Lireal and the other Elves, but she did not wish to remove her eyes from the sight for even a moment. In that moment, it could be over and blood could be shed, and she wished to see the blow that drew it and the face behind it.  
  
She felt fabric from Lireal's dress slide over her hand as the lady rose from the boulder and retreated to the side of the other Elves there. She whispered to the others hastily in Elf tongue, and they shook their heads in the negative.  
  
Several moments passed and the fight became even more heated. A thought occurred to the woman as she sat, watching the sight unfold before her. No, this should not happen, she thought to herself. She did not want it to come to bloodshed.  
  
"My lords!" Amoran called, over the final clash. Both Elves paused, their swords meeting between them. They begrudgingly turned their faces to the woman, their bodies staying defensively where they were.  
  
Now that she had their attention, she didn't know what to do with it. There was that little rule she had, about not drawing the attention of an Elf with a sword.  
  
"My lords," she repeated, buying herself time. She spotted their bows that were placed alongside a boulder a short distance away, "I wonder if either of you shall show me how to use one of those."  
  
Their eyes followed where hers had fallen. They turned to each other and took a step back, their swords making a final foreboding sound as they were pulled away from their opponent. Almost like some concluding threat to the other, promising it was not over. The swords were sheathed. Legolas was the first to speak.  
  
"Why would a woman have need to learn her way with a bow and arrow?"  
  
"I doubt even you could make an archress out of her by nightfall. What harm is there in it?" Lady Lireal came to her defense. The Elf maiden was quickly at Nichae's side and taking his sheathed sword from his hands, as Legolas had already placed his aside, almost in a defiant manner.  
  
"That's the second time you've spoken of harm in the same number of days. It seems to preoccupy your thoughts." Legolas retorted, watching as the lady placed the sword down beside the others on the boulder.  
  
"Perhaps, because it does not even occur to others'." She shot back, with a glint in her eye that spoke more than her words.  
  
"It must be nice to think on such simple lines." Nichae spoke for the first time.  
  
"Some of the greatest truths are quite simple." Amoran came to the lady's defense, in turn.  
  
"Indeed." Lireal agreed.  
  
"And how hard can it be?" The woman added, with a devious smirk.  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow at the comment, while Nichae scowled behind him. The Elf Prince retrieved his bow and soon was at her side.  
  
"As you wish, my lady." He said, handing the bow over to her.  
  
* * * 


	8. A New Moon Shines Upon Them

* * *  
  
Chapter Eight: A New Moon Shines Upon Them  
  
* * *  
  
What a bizarre sight Amoran made. A five-foot six-inch woman was not made for an Elven bow of approximately the same height, or was it the other way around? None the less, Amoran attempted it, much to the amusement of the master archers present. Several times, even Legolas had to walk away for a moment, turning his back to his student, whether to tame frustration or to suppress hysterical laughter, she couldn't tell. Either way, he always returned with a calm façade and a new idea in how to approach their problem.  
  
"Have you ever handled a bow before?" He asked, returning from one of those moments. Amoran raised an eyebrow and gave him a look from under it that screamed, 'Isn't that obvious?'  
  
"No." She answered, trying to ignore the whispers passing through their audience. Amoran didn't know what annoyed her more, the whispers themselves or the fact that she could only guess into what they were saying.  
  
"Have you even touched a bow before now?"  
  
Amoran pondered for a moment.  
  
"Probably." She began. "Elves used to come into the tavern when I was a child. They had bows with them. And, of course, I've seen them a few times in other places, usually taverns. You have beautiful bows. I have often wanted to touch them, get a closer look."  
  
"Since you still have your hands, I would say you were clever enough not to have touched them." Nichae spoke up from where he sat beside Lady Lireal. The Elf woman allowed a soft smile and whispered something in his ear.  
  
"Indeed." Legolas agreed. He turned to his student and gave her a look that was void of any humor. "Do not touch an Elf's bow."  
  
"Without permission." Amoran finished.  
  
"I suppose if you are given permission, it would be safe. Yes." The princely Elf concluded.  
  
"Do I have your permission?" She asked, already having been holding his bow for several minutes.  
  
"No." He deadpanned. She nodded and let go. The Elf reached out and deftly caught the bow with ease before it fell on its side.  
  
"Come," Legolas tried to hide a smile, "let us see if you can manage to hold it right."  
  
Amoran took the bow from his hands and tried to remember everything he had told her that far. Legolas placed one finger underneath her left elbow and attempted to hoist it higher. The woman tolerated it to a point but a moment later pushed her elbow back down to a comfortable level against his instruction.  
  
"There's only so far my elbow can go, Your Majesty." She tried to look intimidating, but she didn't think she succeeded, being no taller than his bow, or shoulder.  
  
"Do you want to hold the bow properly or not?"  
  
"Your bow is too big for me. Are there any smaller ones?" She asked, pushing the bow over to her temporary teacher.  
  
"Nonsense." He pushed it back.  
  
"Nonsense, it's not too big for me or nonsense, there are no smaller ones?" Amoran thrust it towards him with more force.  
  
"Nonsense, my bow works perfectly." The Elf returned the favor  
  
"Surely, for you, but it's too big for me." She pushed against his grip, trying to hand it back.  
  
"Its supposed to be that size, even for one your height. You merely do not know how to handle it correctly, yet." Legolas stated defensively.  
  
"Fine." Amoran conceded with a sigh, their whole audience struggling to hold back their mirth.  
  
"Let us see your aim." The Prince fetched an arrow and helped her fit it properly. She strained to keep a good grip on both the missile and bow.  
  
"Good." Legolas took a step back and looked over her stance. "Raise your elbow."  
  
"Don't start that again." Amoran said through clenched teeth, trying not to smile, knowing once she allowed that, laughter would follow and she could barely hold the weapon properly as it was.  
  
"Pull back and attempt to fire."  
  
Attempt was the word. Her face contorted with concentration as her right hand pulled back the taunt bowstring as far as she could.  
  
"You need to pull it back further."  
  
"I can't." She tried to pull back further but only succeeded in loosing grip on the arrow. It quickly fell to the ground. The other Elves present burst into laughter, Lady Lireal hiding her grin behind a slender hand. "Damn!"  
  
Legolas bent done and retrieved the fallen missile.  
  
"Try again."  
  
And so she tried once more. Her posture was a little lax, Legolas noticed, but she seemed to be holding the bow and arrow more securely. She pulled back the string and with a crisp twang the bowstring was released and the bow fell to the ground, the arrow actually found itself a short distance behind her, and the woman was bent over holding her hand to her chest, cursing under her breath.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
Amoran stood up holding her right hand to her chest with her other. Her jaw was hard-set and she bit her lower lip. She held out her hand and there was a bright red mark across the back of it.  
  
"How did you do that?" Legolas asked, taking the hand in his own to examine it more closely.  
  
"I don't know!" She snapped. "It burns."  
  
The laughing had died down behind them and their audience was once again speaking amongst themselves. She was sure that they were talking about how inept she was and whispering about how dim-witted she must be to have actually fired backwards, and harmed herself in the process. 'Bravo!' screamed in her mind.  
  
Amoran pulled back her hand from the Elf's grasp, clutching it protectively to her chest. Legolas bent down and retrieved his bow.  
  
"I have no idea how you did that." He murmured more to himself, placing the bow against a boulder. "Are you alright?"  
  
"Fine." She answered curtly. "I'm fine."  
  
"Come." Nichae's voice rose to her ears.  
  
While she had been distracted, Amoran hadn't noticed that several female Elves had arrived. They were now setting out sweet bread and meats. Nichae held a silver goblet and pitcher. He poured a blood-red nectar into the goblet.  
  
"Let fine wine take your mind from your wounds." The headhunter continued, holding the goblet out to the woman.  
  
"Wounds? I have only but scratched my hand." Amoran walked the few steps to the company and took what was offered.  
  
"And pride." Nichae added.  
  
"I've taken worse blows." The woman muttered before taking a long drink of the cool wine.  
  
"Body or Pride?" Lireal questioned from just behind Nichae's shoulder.  
  
"Both. Though I've had much deeper wounds to my pride than body, thus far." Amoran answered, before turning and walking a short distance away.  
  
"How foreboding." Legolas commented, stealing a piece of meat from a platter near at hand.  
  
She would've preferred something warmer as the day was quite cool, but the wine did have a gentle and sweet bite that helped to take away the stinging in her hand, and warmed her blood gradually, as well.  
  
Amoran watched, with amused eyes, as Legolas and Nichae fought over a specific piece of sweet bread. The woman couldn't help but roll her eyes as Legolas pulled rank and claimed the piece.  
  
Nichae uttered something to his friend's back, in their mother tongue, that caused many Elves to choke and sputter on their wine. Lireal laughed aloud, placing a gentle hand on Legolas' shoulder as she passed him by to gather some breakfast for herself.  
  
The woman was only slightly surprised when she saw the Lady snatch a choice bread from Nichae right as he was about to take a mouthful. Poor Elf, he was never going to get a bite in.  
  
Amoran looked over the rim of her goblet, never moving it more than a hair's width away from her lips as she observed, as if she could hide behind the silvery object. There were more now in her company than the handful of Elves that had been practicing their archery when she had arrived. At least more than a dozen new Elves mingled around the morning meal.  
  
They poured wine as if it were water into each other's goblets. She had heard of the Elven love of wine, but to see it in person was quite different. It was amazing the quantities the group consumed, and it was only mid-morning. They knew not how finely they dined and lived, Amoran concluded.  
  
She now found herself sitting almost half-hidden behind the boulder, only an arm's length away from the bow, Legolas' bow, that had left a mean and swollen warning upon her hand.  
  
The woman looked over the weapon; the craftsmanship was quite unique and amazingly well done. Much time had been put into the piece. Not one crack, or the beginnings of such, could Amoran spy. Someone loved this bow, spent time oiling and maintaining it. She wondered how old the piece was. Older than her? Probably. Legolas had handled it with great familiarity. Older than her father, his father even? Maybe . . .Such an old piece, but it still bore the beauty it had when conceived in the eye of its creator's mind. How well it suited its master.  
  
A pitcher appeared, intruding upon the view of the bow. She followed the arm upward as it filled the goblet, which she had not noticed she had emptied. Legolas looked down from above her, watching as the chalice was filled.  
  
"Touch it if you like." He offered, righting the pitcher. "It will not hurt you."  
  
"Thank you." Amoran absently cradled her wounded hand against her stomach. "But I think I shall stay away from Elven bows from this day forward."  
  
"Pity." Legolas sat the pitcher aside and bent down, leaning against the boulder she sat upon, holding his own goblet in hand. "Perhaps, it is best."  
  
"The sun is bright, but the wind is cold. Tell me," The woman changed the subject to something more basic, "I have never spent a winter in Mirkwood. Are they harsh?"  
  
"There have been harsh winters, yes, but I fair to bet this one shall not be so. I can feel it in the air." Legolas raised his eyes to the canopy of tree tops overhead and the sky that could be spotted through.  
  
"Strange; it is the air that warns me of a harsh season."  
  
"But as you say, the sun shines brightly. Does that not tell you that its warmth will qualm the chill of the wind?"  
  
"The sun shines on many places, and it does not always bring them warmth. It sits up there, giving people hope. Little do they know it's truly only taunting them. I don't trust the sun. The wind speaks truer words." Amoran ran the goblet between her hands, back and forth, as she was quickly becoming accustomed to doing.  
  
"Perhaps," Legolas started, moving up the boulder and taking a seat beside her, "the sun is not allowed to bring warmth . . ."  
  
"Why?" Amoran interrupted.  
  
"I know not." He continued. "But perhaps it is not allowed, by some greater force, to help those people. And so the only way it is able to give aid is to sit above them, watching. Not taunting them, but giving them hope, and that hope is what gets them through those harsh times. In the end, the hope of the sun is as helpful as any warmth it could have cast upon them."  
  
"Some do not make it through those harsh times."  
  
"Aye, but they had hope."  
  
Silence ensued as they sat in each other's company; Legolas' face raised towards the sun, Amoran's fixated on the earth about their feet. The laughter, singing, and general chatter around them faded in the background; loud in their ears but silent in their minds. After a few moments, the woman drew a deep breath and stiffened her back.  
  
"So it's going to be a good winter?" She asked.  
  
"A very good winter." Legolas confirmed, with a gentle smile. He rose from beside her, a slight nod of the head as a leave taking, and joined his fellows and their merriment.  
  
* * *  
  
How quickly a day could grow and die in the company of Elves. Yet Amoran's companions seemed unaffected by its passing. Somehow the day changed around them, but failed to actually touch them. They were in their own world, and time was yet to be a part of it.  
  
The woman sat amongst them, hiding in their midst, and the day seemed to forget her as well. As if their immortality was temporarily shared. She was sitting within the group, no longer lurking from behind the boulders. Amoran contently listened to their songs and tales. In the beginning, most were explained or translated to her by an Elf that was feeling particularly patient, but soon, they forgot that she did not know their tongue and there were no more explanations. Amoran did not mind for she found that she preferred it that way. She did not want to think about the words or any deeper meaning. The woman wanted to listen and feel, the sounds and tones conveyed all that she needed. At times, the songs and tales spoke to her of great melancholy and she felt her body wanted to cry out and be comforted, and at others the voice would have a tone of hilarity and the woman would find herself laughing along with the others.  
  
Finally, it was a particularly brutal breeze that woke her from the dream- like state she had entered. Many Elves had come and many had gone over the day, and only a select few did she recognize from the morning.  
  
Coming to her senses and to consciousness of what was about her, Amoran had never so keenly felt the weight of time setting itself upon her. Her absence had taken its toll and it felt not as if a single day of the sun had passed, but several of the moon.  
  
Her muscles were weary and tight. Her bones felt old and her mind unsure. Perhaps she should not have indulged so freely in the wine.  
  
But how could she not? The Elves had obviously refined the art of its brewery and she could hardly deny it. A dark red wine was served with their morning meal, golden nectar flowed with the second, bright as the mid-day sun, and she now sipped from a wine so dark that the sky reflected in its surface as if it were night. Yet, the drink had taken its toll upon her, if not so much upon the Elves, though a few of them seemed particularly content with themselves by the day's end.  
  
And that was what it was, day's end. A large group was moving towards the path back to the safety of the stone and abandoned their outdoor respite. Amoran thought it best to follow in their numbers and she did.  
  
It was a wise decision on her part, as darkness was swiftly consuming the trail and the feet she now found herself with were not as sure as those she had used to climb the trail that morning.  
  
Soon, the whole clearing was deserted. Pieces of breads and some meats laid upon the ground, but they were quickly retrieved by dark squirrels, deer, and other creatures that had been hiding in the density of the woods around the clearing.  
  
Out of the trees came Elven guards that took their post upon the boulders. Their weary and bright eyes never left that of their dark surroundings. Too vigilant were they in their guard to cast their eyes upward and search through the canopy above for the stars, which their fellows yearned for below. If they had, they would have seen that a new moon shone upon them, promising of lighter nights, before it, yet again, would disappear into the darkness.  
  
* * *  
  
A dark figure unsteadily sat upon a stone bench in one of the hallways surrounding the palace in the underground city. Positioned so that it would have a view into one of the lesser gardens through an arched opening in the dense stone, still some distance from the center of the city, the figure perched silently.  
  
Legolas approached at his own leisure. He had long ago left the North Garden and had been traveling the hallways for a short time after meeting with his father. He thought he would travel to one of the more private gardens this night, unsure of whether he wished company or not. He decided to leave it up to fate whether he would spend the night alone with his thoughts, and fate had apparently deemed it not.  
  
He could tell from far away who the other was, her figure quite distinct. Her body had sharper and more exaggerative curves than any Elf woman did and she sat too short, as well. The woman's hands were set out to their particular sides and held fast to the edge of the bench to steady her.  
  
"Are you lost?"  
  
Amoran sprang a good few inches off the seat, her head snapping around, her hands recoiling in front of her in a defensive manner, and her breath catching in her chest. The woman's eyes were wide and it took her several moments to settle down, hands slowly returning to her sides and her eyes gradually returning to normal.  
  
"No." She breathed finally, temporary annoyance in its tone.  
  
"I did not mean to frighten you." Legolas said, walking around from behind her to lean against the side of the archway to her right.  
  
"You didn't." Amoran looked to him defiantly. He raised an eyebrow that made the corners of her mouth slightly inch upward. "You startled me."  
  
"You are not lost?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then why are you here?" Legolas asked innocently, looking out at the garden.  
  
"Am I not allowed to be here?" Amoran squinted her eyes up at the prince, becoming slightly annoyed with the interrogation.  
  
"No, you are." He assured  
  
"Then why are you surprised?"  
  
"This is rather far from the Palace."  
  
"Somewhere I don't want to be." The woman sighed, averting her eyes from the prince to the garden so close.  
  
"Why?" Legolas asked, turning from the sight to look directly at the young woman before him.  
  
"Isn't it obvious?" She answered back, returning her attention to him. "I've been locked up in that room. I don't want to go back. The air is thick and hard to breathe."  
  
"No thicker than the air we breathe now."  
  
"Nay, it is the walls that add weight to the air, strangling those inside." Amoran tried to explain.  
  
"Are not we still surrounded by walls?" Legolas countered, motioning to the area around them.  
  
She paused and did not speak for several moments, her face contorted in thought.  
  
"You're right." Amoran murmured. "I don't make sense."  
  
"Nay, I know your meaning." Legolas pushed away from the archway and motioned to the area beside her on the large bench. "May I?"  
  
"If you must." She answered, moving over to make more room for him. He sat down beside her.  
  
"You shall eventually have to return, even if it is merely for rest." Legolas reminded. She looked to him out of the corner of her eyes.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You have free roam, with some exceptions. You are allowed to take advantage of that whenever you wish."  
  
"I know." There was a short silence.  
  
"I assume you received the book I sent you?" He asked, slightly changing subjects.  
  
"Yes." She responded, completely avoiding eye contact.  
  
"Does that not help?" Legolas questioned, searching out her eyes. She cleared her throat.  
  
"Books and I . . ." Amoran paused for a moment, "have never really spoken the same language."  
  
"Perhaps you need a translator?"  
  
Amoran shrugged. "Is that an offer?"  
  
Legolas shrugged, in turn. The woman laughed out loud, causing him to smile sheepishly.  
  
"Are you mocking me?"  
  
"I would never." He responded, still smiling.  
  
"Why have you not retired?" She asked, folding her hands on her lap. The Elf's face sobered, but still retained a good nature about him.  
  
"I met with my father shortly after I left the clearing. I did not feel the call of rest when we were finished, thus I decided to wander." He explained.  
  
"Isn't wandering nice?" At the questioning look Legolas sent her way, she explained. "Not having anywhere specific you must be at a specific time to meet with a specific person. It is liberating."  
  
"Yes." Legolas answered. He looked from the corner of his eyes, watching her. "And how long have you been wandering?"  
  
Amoran did not answer for a short while. The Elf began to think she was not going to answer, when she did.  
  
"Since I was a very naïve girl." Amoran answered strongly. She turned her body to face Legolas before she continued. "And what of you?"  
  
"Responsibility becomes heavier upon my shoulders with each passing day. I wandered as a child, and I find myself doing so less and less of late. It saddens me, as it serves to remind me of my age and loss of the simple joys of when I was young." Legolas looked out upon the garden. He rose, following his eyes, to the small clearing outside the constricting hallway. The Elf looked back to the woman and entreated her to follow.  
  
"How old are you?" She asked, sitting down on the lush grass that softened the hard ground underneath.  
  
"Older than young," Legolas sent her a sidelong glance as he leaned against a tree, his eyes bright in the twilight, "younger than old."  
  
"Avoiding the question?" The woman asked, twirling the blades of grass between her fingers.  
  
"Tell me Amoran, when would you stop counting the years?" The Elf questioned. The woman looked upwards to meet his gaze and met eyes that were older than any Man's. A chill ran down her spine and she felt out of place. "In the hundreds? In the thousands?"  
  
"I did not mean to offend," was her answer. Legolas pushed away from the tree and sat in front of her on the grass.  
  
"You have not. I was merely making my point." He assured. There was a momentary silence before he smiled and changed his tone. "And if I wished to know my age at the moment, I could consult one of the Royal Historians."  
  
Amoran laughed lightly. "The idea of consulting a Historian concerning one's own age."  
  
"Must seem absurd for a mortal." Legolas finished her thought.  
  
"Aye." She answered, rubbing the back of her hand lightly with her other. "Were you talking about me?"  
  
Legolas looked somewhat puzzled. "When?"  
  
"When you met with your father." She answered.  
  
"You are not all that concerns the king." He lightly chided.  
  
"Yes, I know." Amoran smiled, "But you did meet with him immediately after my first unsupervised visit, if you can call it such, since I know I'm never truly unsupervised."  
  
Legolas looked upward into the darkness that lingered over their heads. His keen eyes could just make out the carved ceiling. It must appear like a dark abyss to Amoran's eyes, he thought to himself; perhaps that is why she does not look skyward.  
  
"Are you going to ignore my question?" Her voice brought his attention away from above.  
  
"No, I doubt you would let me." He answered, mock exasperation in his tone. Amoran smiled slightly.  
  
"Must I pry it from you?"  
  
"Yes, if you must know, we were," came his answer.  
  
"Ah," Amoran's face contorted in thought for a moment. She leaned towards him and, with her voice lowered to a whisper, continued. "You didn't tell him about the bow incident, did you?"  
  
Legolas leaned forward and lowered his voice as well.  
  
"I am afraid I did," He answered, keeping a straight face, "He sends his sympathies."  
  
Amoran sighed dramatically and leaned back. "I shall never be able to show my face in polite society again."  
  
Legolas smiled but held his tongue. He had many a witty retort run through his mind but decided it best not to act upon them.  
  
"I know what you're thinking." She said out of no where.  
  
"Do you now?" Legolas asked, curious as to where her trail of thought was going.  
  
"Yes," Amoran answered. She smiled and rose from the ground. Legolas watched as she did so, "and thank you for not saying it. I know you were only being polite, but still . . ."  
  
"Are you departing, my lady?" He asked, rising also.  
  
"Yes, you've convinced me that I will not be held captive," A devious glint appeared in her eye, "but if I have been deceived, I shall hunt you down like a dog."  
  
"Such pleasant words of parting." Legolas remarked, good nature upon his face, his hands behind his back, and general calmness and composure about him. At times, she felt painfully aware that she was surrounded by royal blood and that she was nothing but base blood before them.  
  
"Forgive me. It is said, "Old habits die hard.'" She bowed her head slightly in respect, which he returned, and she turned to leave. The woman took several steps in the corridor to the right when she heard Legolas' voice behind her.  
  
"I thought you were returning to the palace." He called, standing a few feet back in the middle of the corridor.  
  
"I am." She turned and answered. He crossed his arms across his chest.  
  
"You are going the wrong way. If you continue on that path, you may soon find yourself at the Public Baths."  
  
Amoran looked down the hall in front of her and back at Legolas. "Oh."  
  
She turned to the left and continued on her way. The woman passed the Elf without another word. He watched her pass him but did not turn.  
  
Legolas waited several minutes, listening to her retreating footsteps and voices in the distance. Soon his patience was rewarded when Amoran returned and stood before him.  
  
"Which corridor?" She asked, looking him straight in the eye. The woman faked annoyance, placing her hands on her hips, to cover her own amusement at how she must have appeared.  
  
"Are you lost?"  
  
"There are three corridors breaking off of this one." She answered. Legolas smiled.  
  
"And there are several more breaking off of each of those, and several more breaking off of the previous. There are numerous possibilities of where you may find yourself." He explained. She began to look truly annoyed.  
  
"You would have let me just wander about and get myself lost in this labyrinth?" Amoran asked, sincere surprise on her features.  
  
"No." Legolas laughed. "You're guard would have led you back . . .eventually."  
  
"This guard," She began, "where is he?"  
  
Legolas cast his eyes downwards a few moments in thought. Finally he returned, his gaze to Amoran and pointed past her. She turned and saw nothing.  
  
"You might have seen him if you had continued onto The Baths."  
  
"Is that why you told me to go the other way?" She asked.  
  
"No," He answered truthfully. Legolas looked down upon her with a smile that caused her to soften her features; she could no longer stay so passionately annoyed when he did that. Or any other Elf, she reminded herself, frustrating as that may be. "I thought it best to spare you from happening upon my kindred in a less . . .composed state. Since I doubt any of them would speak Common tongue, it could turn into a complicated, though amusing, situation. It would be more of an embarrassing situation for you then them, of course, but I thought it best to spare you of it."  
  
"Thank you." She looked at the path behind her and thought for a moment that she could hear water in the distance. Amoran returned her attention to Legolas.  
  
"Woe is me, how am I to return to the palace?" She asked lamely.  
  
"I suppose you shall eventually find your way," Legolas responded, walking past her, towards The Baths.  
  
"At least point out my guard so that I may plead of him to lead me back."  
  
Legolas turned and smiled to her.  
  
"I shall escort you." He stated offering her his arm. She took it.  
  
"I suppose you shall do." She murmured, with a smile.  
  
"Please stop; such kind words shall cause me to blush." Legolas jested, while leading her down the corridor.  
  
"Oh, you are blushing."  
  
"Am I?"  
  
"Yes . . .Pink ill suits you."  
  
Laughter echoed down the halls; two voices clearly enjoying themselves. Soon the pair had disappeared in the maze of corridors and a guard appeared out of the shadows, where he had been silently observing. With a smile on his face, he followed the prince and thief from a distance as they weaved their way back to the palace.  
  
* * * 


	9. An Unfamiliar Pain

* * *  
  
Chapter Nine: An Unfamiliar Pain  
  
* * *  
  
Within weeks and several days from the time that the Prince of Mirkwood had escorted Amoran to her chambers, she became quite accustomed to the central gardens, those in the immediate vicinity of the palace. Though she would have preferred, and had even thought about on several occasions, to venture further outward, the idea of perhaps finding herself lost detracted her from doing so. Every so often, she would pay a visit to the outside gardens but that was only when there was another to lead her there and back, and her desire to go there waned as the wind's chill grew in intensity with each passing day. But the sun still shone through the aging season. This disturbed Amoran, as she had never seen this happen elsewhere. The sun always faded into the winter, leaving the miserable season drab and numbing to the senses but it was not so here. It was as if she knew nothing of this land, knew not what to expect, and this unsettled her greatly.  
  
But on this day, Amoran's thoughts were not dwelling on her unease of the mind but the unease of her body. Her restlessness once again drew her outward. She knew not where her feet were to take her, but as long as she could find her way back, she cared not.  
  
She assumed that the day was only half-spent, but the grand city of Mirkwood appeared to be covered in night. Many white flames were scattered in their lanterns about, giving light to the otherwise utter darkness. Their smoke rose high above Amoran's head, collecting into small clouds that lingered and grew over their source. The woman's eyes could not pierce them nor their surrounding darkness and thus the ceiling appeared to be a night sky, pilfered of its jewels. Mirkwood was caught in a perpetual night where no stars looked down upon them.  
  
What great Evil could have forced the fair Elves from their beauty and into the darkness where its greatness dims?  
  
A chill ran down Amoran's spine at the thought of what must be such an immense force. She had had luck in her past. Rarely did she come across orcs in her journey, and never did they become aware of her. Though in times gone, there had been incidents where she stumbled or was off-guard in the night, she had always had luck on her side and hid where their damned feet and mud eyes did not fall. Amoran knew one day, she would find that luck spent, and she dreaded that day and the images it conjured in her mind. But so was the risk taken of all that chose to travel the roads and woods she did. It was no place for a woman, as she had been told so many times in the past, and oh how true those words spoke yet it was swiftly becoming no place for a man either.  
  
She shook the thought from her mind and wrapped her cloak tightly around her body, as if she could hide from the world in its folds. The woman had been traveling the paths and corridors for most of the morning and now she found herself having walked in circles. Amoran had feared only shortly before that she might have been straying too far from the palace, having paid little attention to her surroundings.  
  
Inhaling a deep breath, she looked out on a garden she had not come across in her past wanderings. There were trees, thorn bushes, and small plants void of their flowers. In the center rose an elegant water fountain, pristine water trickling down the many layers into the pool beneath. High above Amoran's head and still some distance away, a balcony, the same balcony that jutted out from the Great Hall, loomed. She had felt so far away, but in actuality she could not have been closer without being inside.  
  
Elves were bustling about in criss-crossing paths over the open garden, many whispering to each other excitedly. This was a rare sight as Elves never seemed to be hurried in their steps or actions. Amoran would have laughed if she had seen the sight she made, her mouth slightly agape and a look of total puzzlement upon her face.  
  
In the middle of the garden, two specific Elves drew and held her attention. She knew these Elves not as individuals but by rank and name. They were King Thranduil and Queen Sabriel.  
  
Amoran was surprised to see a sad smile on the king's face as he looked fondly upon his wife. The sounds around her dimmed and Amoran heard nothing. She could not hear the king's words as he placed a crown of burgundy blossoms upon his queen's head, or her reply before she took his hand in her own, rising it to her lips before resting it against her breast, over her heart.  
  
The queen leaned into her husband and Amoran imagined that she spoke softly to him. A genuine smile grew across Thranduil's face as he closed his eyes to everything around them. The queen drew back and returned it. His hand still over her heart, encompassed in her thinner but no less capable hands, he opened his eyes and drew her to him, placing a gentle kiss upon her forehead, below where his gift of blossoms rested. The queen sighed and relaxed into his grasp, as if past burdens were temporarily shared.  
  
A pain, unfamiliar as it was, stung in Amoran's heart as she witnessed the king pull away from his wife. The Elf queen seemed to waver as the strength of her husband was taken from her but she quickly drew straight and strong as he gave a last word and turned away, reluctantly pulling his hand from her grasp. Sabriel's eyes fell heavy upon the departing Elf's back and Amoran felt the pull to follow.  
  
The woman watched the strong king, how ancient yet timeless he was. His back was rigid and his head held high in pride as he walked. This was not the gentle Elf that Amoran had seen leave the queen only moments before, as the Elf woman who stood in his wake was not the same one who had hungrily held onto the moments of affection. The thought of the queen drew the woman's eyes back to where they had left and they widened in shock at the powerful gaze that met them.  
  
Queen Sabriel stared back at her, the Elf's stance relaxed yet regal in one. Amoran drew a shaky breath and felt as a child that had been caught where they had no right to be. Sabriel's eyes were squinted and her chin held high. The woman felt the weight of a heavy and analyzing gaze upon her.  
  
The Elf's head was tilted slightly to the side, reminding Amoran of someone; she could not remember whom. She watched as confusion and curiosity turned into such sadness and reproach in the Eldar's eyes. Finally, Amoran could stand the gaze no longer and bowed her head under the weight. For reason's unknown to her, guilt weighed heavy in her chest and all she could think about was leaving, running from that gaze and the accusations it screamed.  
  
Swiftly she turned, not sparing a glance over her shoulder to see if the queen's eyes followed for she knew they did, and took for the nearest escape. She ran into an Elf, two in fact, but did not spare an apology, it was unlikely they would have understood anyhow. Turning a corner, she took to a corridor, any corridor as long as it led to somewhere far from the heart of the gardens.  
  
* * * 


	10. Into the Music, the Dancing, the Food, a...

* * *  
  
Chapter Ten: Into the Music, the Dancing, the Food, and Bright Lights  
  
* * *  
  
Soft whispers and the smell of aged paper teased the senses. The air was still but not thick, as there were several grand windows lining a high stone wall. Curtains, deep in green hue and embroidered in gold thread, fell in lush folds around the intricately carved windows, still as death without a breath of air to rustle life into the fabric. Even with the lack of movement, no dust marred the bright treatments. Instead they stood brightly and regal, if not lively, guarding their respective windows. No sun faded their beauty but no wind whispered and played in their folds. They stayed in a constant state with their finely hemmed ends gently bleeding in small pools, pools of darkness upon the cold, polished floor.  
  
White as snow, marble floored the room. Inserted in the design of stars, each several hands across, were tiles in shadowy black, a dark brother to its fair kin. Rows of shelves ascended from this floor and lined three of the walls, several Elves' height above their heads. Each was filled with chronicles of days passed, diaries of soldiers from great wars, old tales that had long left the familiarity of its creator's tongue, and any text that the traveling Elves had come across. So many were the texts that one could become lost in their midst, as they did not restrict themselves to the walls. The collection had long overflowed those boundaries and more than a dozen free standing shelves cut through the massive room. Each was filled to the brim and representing categories and organized into series, which were maintained to a loving extent by its librarians.  
  
With all these books, one might think the room crowded and stale, but that could not be further from the truth. In fact, the room was still quite spatial. Enough so that tables, often ridden with stacked books and papers, were strewn about for everyone's convenience. Also there were several softly cushioned couches and chairs, favored and quickly claimed amongst the more avid readers. Filling these couches, tables, and aisles were Elves of Mirkwood.  
  
One such Elf sat in a pillow-laden couch in a corner of the Palace Study. He was stretched out leisurely, quite resembling a domestic cat, with his head resting upon a palm supported by an elbow erected on the armrest to his left. In his lap sat a heavy text, the edges of its pages yellowed and crisp with time. Slowly Legolas turned a page, as did several others in the room.  
  
He had read the book many times in the past and knew every page by heart. He knew every wrinkle of paper, every blur of the ink, and he even had a slight tear of a page that he could call his own, not that he'd admit it. Secretly as an unspoken truth, all knew the book belonged to Legolas. Not because he was a Prince of Mirkwood or that technically all in that room was the propriety of his father, but because he loved it so. Many had claims on certain texts and the others respected that without a thought.  
  
A swift movement from across the room tore Legolas' eye from the depths of his pages. An Elf had entered, too swiftly and urgently for normal. He sat a bit straighter as he watched his comrade search the room for whom he was looking. Seeing this person in question, the Elf quickly made for his side.  
  
Legolas watched as he spoke softly and shortly to the other. The receiver of the news seemed quite pleased and returned to the sides of the group that he had been reading amongst.  
  
The three Elves listened intently and grins grew across their faces with the news. The soft and pleasant whisperings in the room rapidly grew as the words from the one Elf spread, moving from the right corner opposite Legolas and flowing towards him as if a dam had been broken.  
  
Legolas smiled to himself, as he was sure he knew of the bright tidings. He returned his eyes to the book before him, and waited.  
  
*My lord?* A soft voice floated to his ears. His answer was to turn his full attention to her. The maiden bent at the knees, nearly sitting on the floor, with one hand steadying her on the armrest he was leaning on.  
  
*It has begun.* She spoke in an excited hush as if it were some great secret. With that she rose, not sparing another word.  
  
He sat for a few moments more, watching the others in the room speak to each other and mile about, some leaving the room with long anticipation guiding their feet. Finally sighing, Legolas allowed the anticipation and excitement to sink in, for he felt it as well. The Elf prince closed the book, the fleeting air between the pages making a mad dash out and through his hair, sweeping it from his face, before being caught betwixt chapters.  
  
* * *  
  
After retreating from the garden, Amoran had found that she was quite fatigued and wished to retire to her room. The feelings and accusations that had screamed so clearly in her mind before were now blurred memories, as if her excursion were but a dream that was quickly being forgotten. No longer did she remember why guilt weighed heavy on her heart but she did remember that it was not true (or was it that she had hoped it was not true?). Yet, the queen's gaze still haunted her and she knew that in those depths, lies were not one of the many things that rested there.  
  
Trying to push the thought to the back of her mind, she made a quick path through the halls of the palace. She had to think a few minutes before returning to her pace. The burglar had entered from a door that she did not recall, and was trying to find her way back from on an odd path, not unfamiliar as she felt that she had indeed been there before.  
  
"Amoran." Lady Lireal's voice halted the woman's swift steps. She turned and watched the Lady approach.  
  
Amoran could feel Lireal's excitement as she drew near, as if it were a sweet perfume that filled the air about her. The ady's features were calm but pleased and Amoran could not think why. Finally reaching the woman's side, a shadow slowly crept over Lireal's features and her sweet perfume began to fade.  
  
"What troubles you so? Your face is dark and your eyes speak of hurt." Lady Lireal raised a hand and placed the palm gently against Amoran's cheek. "Has some Elf spoken unkindly to you? Did you deserve it?"  
  
"No." Amoran responded, shaking her head, both to emphasize her answer as well as to rid herself of the lady's cool palm. "My mind was merely dwelling on unpleasant things."  
  
"Then you must rid them from your thoughts, even if it is only for a few days. There is always time to speak of them later. Now, there are more pleasant things at hand, yes, very pleasant indeed."  
  
"So this giddy madness ails you as well?" Amoran asked, a smile upon her face.  
  
"Giddy madness?" Lireal's face bore amusement and curiosity. The woman allowed a short laugh, which puzzled the lady further.  
  
"Aye! Elves are running about this way and that, speaking to each other so swiftly that they barely can muster enough breath to speak - I distinctly feel the air is thinning. It seems quite un-Elf like." Amoran explained.  
  
"The first snow has fallen." Lady Lireal stated, as if that justified it all. There were a few moments of silence between the two. Whispers in the background grew until they were thoroughly audible. A great crowd of people was approaching by the sounds of it.  
  
"Forgive me, I was wrong. That is quite Elf like." Amoran turned to resume her path, as she could not think how the first snow could mean anything but frostbite.  
  
It was Lireal's turn to allow a short laugh. Amoran turned questioningly.  
  
"It is a symbol." She began, allowing another laugh. "It means the Winter Festival has begun. You shall soon see why Elves set the standard for any celebration."  
  
"A little immodest are we?" Amoran asked with a light air, truly pleased to now understand the confusion about her.  
  
"You shall see." Lireal stated smugly, but Amoran's eyes did not rest on her but the figure behind. The lady noticed this and turned to see who had captured the other's attention so.  
  
"Nichae!" She named.  
  
The Elf smiled back at her and placed a crown of blossoms, blood red, resting upon her brow. The maiden practically beamed during the exchange. He spoke a few choice words in their foreign tongue and she returned them.  
  
Whisperings in the background soon turned to outright chatter. Feeling them draw near, Amoran looked side to side and behind her to try and locate their direction, and found herself thoroughly annoyed at that moment with the Elves' light steps and the high ceiling that threw their voices in strange directions.  
  
With a sweep of air and a bang as a heavy wooden door was pushed open, Elves poured into the large hallway from a room not far down. She heard another be pushed and opened in the same fashion somewhere in the distance, and had a distinct feeling that she'd soon be immersed in a flood of giddy Elves. Not finding herself too pleased with the thought, she turned to Lireal for guidance.  
  
Alas, she found none for the lady was already plunged deep into a rapturous conversation with the archer. No interruption would be well received on their part. Luckily at that moment she saw a familiar face amongst the crowd flowing out of the door.  
  
She weaved her way through the retreating forms. None took any notice of her as they were focused on grander visions in their minds' eyes. Soon she was at the side of whom she sought.  
  
Amoran tapped the Elf on the shoulder and he turned to her swiftly, having not noticed her in the crowd. She smirked nervously, never having been the one to approach him. He had always approached her. Suddenly, she felt unsure, but he smiled and that washed away.  
  
"Good day, Amoran." He greeted over the echoing chatter.  
  
"Come," he took a hold of her elbow and steered her with the crowd, "unless you wish to become lost again and miss the festivities."  
  
"There's so many." She remarked, as the prince shepherded her along. They were surrounded on all sides by the crowd. "Where are we going?"  
  
"The Great Hall." He answered, the crowd veered to the left and they followed. "All of the royal guests shall celebrate there."  
  
"Am I welcome?" She asked, stopping her forward movement. Legolas stopped as well and the Elves moved around them, like a river cut by a couplet of rocks.  
  
"Yes." He answered simply. She searched his face, but he avoided it and looked around their surroundings.  
  
"Does the king know about that?"  
  
Legolas locked eyes with her, and motioned her forward again.  
  
"Not yet."  
  
Amoran stopped and Legolas' actions followed.  
  
"I'm not willing to face the wrath of your father. I'm quite fond of free roam."  
  
Legolas held up a hand to stop her words.  
  
"Yes, but how better to watch the thief during the festival than to have her by my side?" He explained. They moved towards grand doors, which Amoran remembered from two times before, neither was terribly pleasant. They were thrown open and light, bright as the mid-day sun, shone out into the hallway.  
  
Amoran stopped once again, to Legolas' annoyance, and tried to peer over the heads of those in front of them, but being a woman of moderate height she was not able to see over the Elves' superior statures.  
  
"How long is this going to last? An ache pounds in my head and I'd like to take rest as soon as I can."  
  
"Only a few days." Legolas answered and began to laugh aloud merrily at the look that passed over Amoran's face.  
  
"A few days!" She exclaimed.  
  
"You shall hardly notice it pass." He assured, taking a hold of her hand and folding it around his arm, a position that did not allow her to stop so easily. "It is too short in my opinion."  
  
Amoran swallowed several thoughts that came to mind, which she did not know how to quite put into words. Legolas pulled her forward and they finally entered the grand hall.  
  
The prince looked out upon the room with a proud smile. These were his people and they were beautiful. So often, time and outside forces could cloud his view and he would forget how dearly he loved who he was, those he called his kin, and all they touched.  
  
He turned to Amoran and saw the bright flames' light of his people reflect in her wide eyes as she gazed out upon the room. Such awe was upon her features that Legolas felt as if he were seeing his people through another's eyes, as if he were privy to the woman's thoughts and perceptions.  
  
Feeling his focus upon her, she looked to him from the corner of her eyes, and smiled, genuinely. The morning's unpleasant events were quickly forgotten and she found herself lost in all that was around her, lost in the moment, for however long it would last. Legolas led her forward, into the music, the dancing, the food, and bright lights, into the Elven grandeur that made the world, at that moment, feel as if all was right.  
  
* * * 


	11. Of Pink and White Oliphaunts

* * *  
  
Chapter Eleven: Of Pink and White Oliphaunts  
  
* * *  
  
Music drifted softly to their ears, not so loud as to drown out the considerable conversation in the room, but enough so that it was always at the edge of one's mind. The air was thick with fragrance, of honey meats and pastries and breads and everything and anything that a Man or Elf could ever wish to fill their stomach with. Colors intoxicated the mind and blended so that all felt as a dream, if touched it would melt away. All mixed together teasing, tantalizing, and enticing one's senses.  
  
The Great Hall was filled with life and gayety. The Great Hall was filled. Most of the room was set-aside for various dancing, singing, and playing. This area was towards the front of the hall set between the large doors and the tables toward the back.  
  
The tables, three in all and grandiose in length, cut horizontally across the room. Each was set slightly higher than the last, ascending to the final table.  
  
Behind this table, the balcony stretched out into the city, treetops visible and laughter and voices audible. Flames sent out their lights, reaching upward into the darkness that stretched on above. These lights played tricks on the mind as they hid and pierced through the rising smoke, dark shadows looming in the distance, emanating from their mother flame.  
  
Such a beautiful backdrop, dark yet lovely though it was, served to intensify and distinguish the beauty and light of inside, and serve to gently harass the mind with an iota of temporary unease as one looked up to the tables and those lining them.  
  
At one of these tables, the last but perhaps the most significant, sat the King and Queen of Mirkwood. Both were stationed at positions of power, center behind the table at the highest point in the room, with a splendorous view of their people before them. Each was positioned with the shadowy darkness behind them; though their eyes did not see, the voices reminded them of its presence.  
  
Across from the king sat Legolas, leisurely slouched back in his chair. To the prince's right sat the lovely Lady Lireal, with Nichae to her right. Amoran sat to his left, across from one of his father's counselors.  
  
Food was lain before them; enough to feed all the people in the room itself yet there were two more tables just as bountiful. Breads had been broken, exposing their softness to the sweet air. Pies had been sliced and meats had been carved. Each plate, not its master's first nor its last, was half- emptied.  
  
About halfway through a particularly popular song, a few Elves began to sing along, soon their whole table erupted with the melody and the next table began to follow. But before it could envelope all of the second table or begin on the third, the song came to its untimely end and a sigh passed through them as they wished it had lasted longer or not ended at all. A new song began, and they quickly awoke from the mourning of the last.  
  
*What a fool!* The king laughed merrily. Sabriel smiled kindly down on her plate.  
  
*He was quite drunk at the time.* Nichae explained.  
  
*With their putrid ale, I presume.* The king's counselor remarked.  
  
*Yes,* He answered. *I do not understand how they can stand the rotting taste.*  
  
They all gave their agreements, taking bites and sips from their plates and goblets.  
  
*In all, Lake-town sends its greetings and good wishes.*  
  
*Of course, they do.* Thranduil murmured taking another swig of wine.  
  
Another song died down at the other side of the room and a few from the table rose to join the dancing, with respectful nods to their comrades.  
  
*Lady Lireal,* Thranduil's voice merrily met the table's ears and many turned to listen, *You look quite lovely of late. I see life fairs thee well?*  
  
The lady smiled and Nichae seemed to find interest in his plate.  
  
*Yes, thank you, My Lord.*  
  
Thranduil nodded his head once in recognition to her thanks and took a bite of meat.  
  
*What a wonderful job the hunting party has done preparing for this feast.* The queen noted, smiling kindly to Nichae, *Well done, Nichae.*  
  
*Thank you, My Lady.*  
  
*Yes, you did do a wonderful job.* Lireal agreed and there were more agreements murmured from down the table.  
  
*Did you not join the hunt as well, Legolas?" King Thranduil asked, setting his fork down. He leaned back in his seat with satisfaction about him.  
  
*Yes, but only for a few days. Before Nichae went to Lake-town,*  
  
*You never had any liking for there.* The King interrupted.  
  
*Aye.* Legolas continued, setting his goblet down. *I am sure we have already consumed all that I had brought in . . .three times over.*  
  
*Indeed.* Thranduil replied, smirking to his son. *I suppose we have made gluttons of ourselves.*  
  
There was a pause.  
  
*But what fun it has been and continues to be!* He announced and the table released a loud agreement.  
  
*Aye!* They laughed to their lord.  
  
*To fine wine and fine company!* Thranduil raised his goblet and the rest of the table followed.  
  
*To fine wine and fine company!*  
  
Once the goblets were lowered, the smile upon the queen's face faded and her eyes fell upon Amoran.  
  
"Some company we have been," She remarked in Common tongue, "For we have forgotten the needs of our guest."  
  
The king frowned, still not too pleased that Legolas had brought the mortal. Of course it was the proper thing for him to have done, but that did not mean Thranduil had to be overly pleased with circumstance.  
  
"Indeed. What hosts are we to have left the poor girl to herself?" Thranduil resumed in Westron. "Especially you, Legolas!"  
  
The prince looked surprised and sat defensively.  
  
*You brought her!* Thranduil admonished.  
  
*Your father's right. Quite badly done, Legolas.* The queen agreed.  
  
He bowed his head a moment in shame before turning to Amoran.  
  
"Please forgive me, Lady Amoran. I do not know what came over me." Legolas apologized.  
  
"Do not fret so," Amoran laughed, "While you were exchanging pleasantries, I was pocketing enough silver to feast for a month."  
  
There was a distinct silence.  
  
"I was not serious." She assured, setting her fork down slowly on her plate.  
  
"Of course." Legolas smiled, obviously forced.  
  
*Her pockets should be checked when she returns to her room.* The counselor suggested to the King. Thranduil nodded his head in agreement, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He was not amused.  
  
"What do you think of the feast, Amoran?" Lady Lireal spoke, trying to ease the tension that the mortal so easily brought upon them. "Did I not tell you it would be grand?"  
  
"Aye." Amoran sat back in her chair, holding her wine. Her body was quite lax and her movements were slow and indistinct. Two days worth of extravagance were taking their toll on her. She had only retired a few hours within that time, not sufficient enough for the effects of all the wine to wear off before she indulged in more. "It's quite grand. I've never experienced anything like it. You were right to gloat."  
  
"Amoran," Nichae spoke and the woman leaned forward in her chair, a steadying hand on the table, to see him. "We were just discussing Lake-town and we wondered, what do Men think of their ale?"  
  
"Their ale?" Amoran repeated, setting down her goblet. It rested haphazardly off balance and Legolas moved it so it would not fall. "I suppose men like their ale. I don't know; I'm not a man. But ale is kind on a dry throat and quite welcomed if free."  
  
"No," Nichae laughed and Legolas joined.  
  
"No," The prince picked up where his friend left off, "No, he meant how do your kin stand the taste? It seems awful to us."  
  
"You've tasted our ale?" Amoran asked, once again leaning back in her chair, tearing bread in her hands.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Curious, were you?"  
  
"No," Legolas defended. "A Man said I could not handle it."  
  
"Ah," Amoran swallowed a piece of soft bread. The prince wondered for a moment why he confessed that and blamed the drink. "Men drink it because it's easy to make and easy to keep. Some don't have a liking for the taste, but when there is no fresh water at hand, you take what you're given. And after a while we get used to it. I suppose Men's tongues are not as sensitive as Elves'."  
  
A thought occurred to Amoran. "Not that I know anything of Elves' tongues." She hastily assured.  
  
Lireal sputtered on her wine and everyone looked to Amoran for a moment. She looked back sheepishly and Legolas burst out into laughter, followed by several others.  
  
"Are you enjoying the wine, Lady Amoran?" The king's counselor asked innocently, he had been one of those that had not laughed.  
  
*Is that not obvious?* Legolas heard whispered from down the table.  
  
"Yes, very much."  
  
*One would think she had never tasted wine in her life.*  
  
*At least not as fine as ours.*  
  
*She has consumed quite a bit.*  
  
*But have not we all?*  
  
*Yes, yes, we have, but, as the woman said, we have a finer sense of taste than Men.*  
  
*Aye. Wine such as our king's deserves to be appreciated.*  
  
*Indeed.*  
  
*What a ribald comment, concerning tongues.*  
  
*I have heard worse from your tongue.*  
  
*Yes, but . . .*  
  
*If you thought that comment ribald, you should hear the story she is telling now.*  
  
Legolas' attention returned to Amoran and he had a distinct feeling he had missed something. Lireal was turning slightly red in the cheeks, his mother was trying to look sympathetic, his father's counselor was rendered speechless, and his father . . . his father almost seemed amused.  
  
"I was blushing for days after that. What brought that up? Oh, yes! The Baths!"  
  
Indeed, he had missed something important.  
  
" . . .And so Legolas told me that I 'as wandering to the Baths." Amoran sat back in her chair, goblet in hand, and seemed to be putting a fair amount of concentration into her words. " And then that incident came to mind and you can imagine my horror."  
  
She looked around the table and the queen nodded indulgently to her.  
  
"Yes, well, I knew I did not want to go there!"  
  
"Not because of you or anything of the sort." She tried to explain, "I'm sure Elves don't do that type of thing, right? Legolas?"  
  
Legolas froze, unsure of how to answer. He couldn't very well admit that he had not been listening to her or even so far as he had not been listening to her for he had been eavesdropping on another conversation. Amoran looked to him, waiting for his answer.  
  
"No?" He answered slowly. His mother nodded to him in the positive. Amoran smiled and was about to speak again.  
  
"Yes, we do?" Legolas said, taking cue from his mother. His mother immediately frowned and shook her head slightly.  
  
"No!" He swiftly corrected.  
  
Amoran looked puzzled.  
  
"Of course, we do not." Thranduil settled it.  
  
The woman furrowed her brow at Legolas. He cleared his throat and reached across the table.  
  
"More wine, Amoran?" He asked, picking up the crystal decanter.  
  
"Yes, please." She answered, handing him her goblet. Legolas sighed, apparently she had forgotten already about the question.  
  
*Not too much, Legolas. We do not wish for her to pass out.* Thranduil grumbled behind his own goblet.  
  
A loud cheer sounded and Amoran startled, nearly spilling her wine.  
  
"What was that?" The woman turned in her chair. Elves were rising from their seats and then sitting down and others would rise and then they'd sit down, causing others to rise and it went so quickly that Amoran's eyes could barely follow it and her mind was having even more difficulty.  
  
"Don't mind them." The Elf to Amoran's left, who until then had remained silent, answered. "It's a game. Best played when warm with spirits. It is also the only time it seems to truly make sense."  
  
"Dizzying." Amoran commented.  
  
"Especially for those playing." Legolas added, turning to watch as well. "It is not unusual for one to fall over . . .such as that unfortunate Elf."  
  
Amoran turned back just in time to see an Elf hit the floor with his rump, taking his chair back with him. The table burst into laughter and the Elf himself couldn't get up as he found it terribly funny, as well. His two comrades to his sides offered him their hands and he pulled them down with him. Obviously, they were also well acquainted with the wine as they fell rather easily. The table sang with laughter and the rest of the room chuckled lightly.  
  
"That's going to smart." Amoran mumbled.  
  
"I shall be surprised if he remembers it." Legolas replied.  
  
"You played?" She looked side-to-side between the Elf to her left and Legolas to her right.  
  
"I remember my bruises. Father shall not let me forget." The prince answered, and sent a look to Thranduil. The king was busy with a conversation between Sabriel and his counselor.  
  
"I am told that I have in the past. I remember naught of it." The other Elf answered as well. He seemed to be searching his mind thoroughly for any memories. He sighed. "Nothing. Though they swear by it."  
  
"If Men could only see the graceful Elves now." Amoran mumbled to herself. "Some swear you never fall in the entire length of your lives, it being against nature itself."  
  
"We fall," the Elf commented to her side.  
  
"But gracefully." Legolas corrected, straight-faced. Amoran could not understand whether it was a joke or not. He smiled and she forced a laugh. Perhaps, it was funny in Sindarin?  
  
Legolas turned and began speaking to Lireal.  
  
"Where's the children?" Amoran asked after a few moments of silence. She bent over her plate and slurped a spoonful of soup. The Elf beside her looked up and searched her face to see if she was talking to him. "In fact . . .I haven't seen them anywhere."  
  
"There are no children." He answered.  
  
"Oh . . ." She placed the spoon down in the bowl. It slid and disappeared into the chowder. "Why?"  
  
A look told her that the question would not be answered.  
  
"There's really not many of you." She mumbled.  
  
"There are." Legolas joined the conversation. His former hilarity was gone and a feel of melancholy took its place. "They are just not here with us."  
  
"Oh, they . . .?" She wandered off in the end, not knowing what to say. "How?"  
  
"No, most live." Legolas answered, and she sighed. He stared down at his plate but saw nothing.  
  
"Then where?"  
  
Legolas looked up to her and she saw a shining sadness in his bright eyes. The sadness transferred so vividly from them that she felt that she would cry. Her eyes began to sting and her cheeks began to burn. He turned away.  
  
"It is not something to be discussed." The other Elf answered. "Not now. Not here . . ." He motioned with his eyes subtly to Legolas. "Not with him."  
*Do not let life burden you so, my son.* The queen spoke softly across the table. All were turned away and immersed in their own conversations.  
  
Legolas found he could not lay eyes on his mother, as her gaze was heavy and loving on him.  
  
*Let this be a grand and warm memory . . . for me.* She continued. Her voice beseeched his eyes to find hers and she smiled tenderly to him. *For you.*  
  
*I am trying,* Legolas assured, keeping his voice low, wishing his conversation with his mother to go unheard and untainted. *But I find it difficult.*  
  
*And I find myself reminded.* He looked to Amoran, who was listening to the Elf Lord beside her.  
  
*Forgive her,* His mother's voice was soft to his ears, *she knows not how great an affect can come about from her simple actions. Forgive her . . . and me.*  
  
*There is naught to forgive, mother.* Legolas affirmed swiftly. *I should not be so selfish.*  
  
Sabriel raised a hand and his words fell dead in the air.  
  
*Enough of this melancholy between you two.* The king's voice cut between them sharply. *I will have no more of it.*  
  
*There will be no more, My Lord.* The queen promised, softly taking and squeezing her husband's hand in an assuring manner. She turned a bright smile to Legolas, that felt fake but lovely in his eyes. *Will there, Legolas?*  
  
*No, no more.* He promised as well, forcing a smile before draining his golden goblet. When he looked up from its glistening bottom, he saw his mother had been whisked away into a conversation with many matrons to her side. He sighed and looked to his right.  
  
Lady Lireal was gone, as was Nichae.  
  
A heartfelt laugh called to him and he turned to see Amoran doubled over in a giddiness he'd yet to see claim her.  
  
"Marvelous!" She commended her companion. "Wonderful! I must admit I understand not half of it, but it was great!"  
  
The Elf Lord to her side chuckled lightly and shook his head slightly, as if he could not believe the woman. Legolas was unaware of a reluctant smile as it sneaked its way onto his lips.  
  
"Legolas!" Amoran welcomed, as if he had appeared out of no where, and that it was perfectly normal. "We were telling jokes. Were we not?"  
  
The Elf to her side nodded his head in agreement, an amused smile on his lips.  
  
"Yes, well, it's my turn now." She said, sitting back in her seat and playing with a goblet between her hands.  
  
"Let me see . . . Let me see . . ." She trailed off and the two Elves looked to her expectantly. Over the time of a few moments, her eyelids began to lower and it was as if she had fallen deep into the cup and was captured within.  
  
"Amoran." Legolas called and she started.  
  
"Yes? Yes?" She questioned, before she suddenly burst into laughter. The Elves beside her couldn't help but laugh gently as well.  
  
*We have a drunk mortal on our hands, My Lord.* The Elf spoke to Legolas. The prince nodded his agreement.  
  
"What was I saying?" She asked.  
  
"You were going to tell a joke." Legolas explained.  
  
"Joke! Oh yes!" She then quieted.  
  
"I don't know any good jokes." Amoran paused. "Would you like to hear a bad one?"  
  
"Just as good."  
  
The woman smiled deviously and started absently playing with the empty goblet again.  
  
"An Elf, Dwarf, and Man walk into a bar."  
  
"Why would an Elf walk into a bar with a Dwarf?" Legolas asked, skeptical.  
  
"I know not." She answered.  
  
"Or with a Man?" The other to her side spoke.  
  
"I know not."  
  
"What a sight it would make." The prince stated.  
  
"An Elf, Dwarf, and Man?" The Elf Lord asked.  
  
"I wouldn't know." Amoran said.  
  
"Indeed. I have never seen such a sight in all my years and doubt I will." Legolas continued.  
  
"I've never seen a Dwarf." The woman spoke, to the air for all the good it was doing.  
  
"I have seen many strange sights in my day, but an Elf, Dwarf, and Man together?" The other continued as if not hearing the woman. "I would take it as a horrible omen."  
  
"You believe in omens?" Legolas asked.  
  
"I believe in omens. Mostly bad omens, hate to raise my hopes." She mumbled.  
  
"Not usually, but that would cause me to."  
  
"Wait . . .I have seen a Dwarf!" The thought dawned on her. She paused to think a bit further. " I wish I hadn't seen those Dwarves."  
  
"Perfectly understandable." Legolas proclaimed. The Elf to her left agreed.  
  
"So an Elf, Dwarf, and Man walk into a bar . . ." The prince began for her.  
  
She was silent for a moment, before a smile grew across her face and she began to laugh to herself. "I've heard that one before."  
  
"You were telling it to us." The Elf to her side reminded.  
  
"Oh, right."  
  
She laughed harder.  
  
"So an Elf, Dwarf, and Man walk into a bar?" Legolas asked again.  
  
"Ouch." Amoran murmured.  
  
Both the Elves looked perplexed. She bit her lip to keep from bursting out into laughter again.  
  
"What?" The prince asked.  
  
"An Elf, Dwarf, and Man walked into a bar." She began. "Ouch!"  
  
She made a strange strangled noise before being reduced to laughter, yet again.  
  
Both the Elves looked to each other in disbelief.  
  
"That is a bad joke." Legolas remarked, a wide grin across his face.  
  
"So bad, in fact, that it is funny." The other observed.  
  
The two Elves allowed themselves to indulge in cheerful laughter, which rose and mixed with the chorus of the room. Thranduil looked over shortly, from his in depth conversation with his chief counselor. He shook his head and returned to the conversation. The laughing trio also stole Sabriel's attention and she smiled sincerely to see her youngest son happy. Soon, the strength behind her smile began to fade and the gesture followed suit.  
  
*My Lady?* The matron to her side spoke and demanded her attention. Queen Sabriel reluctantly tore her eyes away from those before her and refocused them to the Elf beside her.  
  
*Forgive me, my mind wandered. You were saying?* Sabriel pushed her worries out of her mind and tried to calm the ache in her heart. No matter how long she lived, that pain remained. She longed for a relief from the searing throb. Soon, she had to remind herself so often. But would the pain truly be gone, knowing that it still resided and grew in others? How often her mind had traveled that same circular path, she grew weary with its all too familiar turns and trials. She sighed and tried to focus her mind outward.  
  
Music drifted softly to their ears, not so loud as to drown out the considerable conversation and loud thoughts in the room, but enough so that it was always at the edge of one's mind. The air was thick with fragrance, of honey meats and pastries and breads and everything and anything that a Man or Elf could ever wish to fill their stomach with. Colors intoxicated the mind and blended so that all felt as a dream, a dream that if touched would melt away before its time. All mixed together teasing, tantalizing, and enticing. 


	12. Ghostly Memories

Note to readers: There are parts in this that, in my file, are written in italics. Alas, I am computer illiterate and thus do not know how to process the correct codes for FF.net. Bear with it please.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter Twelve: Ghostly Memories  
  
* * *  
  
Lady Lireal had been correct, and Amoran had no dilemma with admitting it. The woman had been to many small get-togethers, bar-sized spectacles, and town-wide bashes, but none could quite compare to what she had experienced. Dancing and feasting, singing and drinking, and never did these Elves tire.  
  
Time flew by without making its appearance known, a cloaked figure hiding just beyond the shadows. During the celebrations, the poor woman had no idea how much time had passed. In the beginning this was slightly disturbing, as the race of Men are quite preoccupied with the passing of time from even the earliest of ages. But soon the sights swept her away and she gave no complaint.  
  
Amoran could remember most of the first couple of days, she marked them as two as she had taken rest between them and that's what she believed them to be. She remembered conversations and toasts, glances and glares. All were blood red as seen through what was soon becoming her favored wine. Saccharine were these memories, as they were flavored in the drink.  
  
Pieces of songs and tales in their haunting language echoed within her mind. She knew not their meaning, but they were tattooed upon her heart and she doubted they'd ever leave her. The idea was depressing as she found herself in the aftermath, for it would forever be a reminder of something she would never again have. It both pained and saddened her.  
  
As she lay sprawled out upon her bed, still in the gown of the night before, her mind lingered on what was to come and how it would compare to what had been. The first snow had fallen, perhaps a week ago, meaning winter was already upon her, and spring would follow.  
  
With spring, that soft bed, warm meals, and red wine would all be gone. Such things were not for her kind. She cursed softly into the air about her, still sweet with the fragrances of the feast passed. Perhaps it would have been best for her not to have allowed herself such luxuries; they'd be difficult to leave behind.  
  
The luxuries she'd miss, yes, but the confinement, no. So often, she had to remind herself that she was not there for play, that this was not some dream where she could jump from a window and fly. She cringed at the thought, remembering blurred images from the feast. Something involving a balcony very high off the ground and hands pulling on her wrists and waist. She even remembered a hand on her ankle. Wait, how could there have been a hand on her ankle?  
  
She sighed with a grumble. Amoran decided she didn't want to know.  
  
The woman could feel the gifts of the wine leaving her system, and a great exhaustion taking its place. Not only exhaustion but also the ache in her head, which had ailed her before the feast, was swiftly returning.  
  
How long had she been laying there, staring at the hearth's light as it chased shadow puppets on the ceiling? She knew not.  
  
The fire pried a memory from her mind and she closed her eyes with the thought.  
The room was much larger than that of the cell she had spent all of the past few days in, and for that she was thankful. A fire in a stone hearth warmed the room and sent red and orange hues upon the walls.  
  
Slowly she leaned forward and placed her hand in his. He seemed surprised at this but did not question her further. Instead he turned her hand over and saw what he knew he would.  
  
Vivid in the light of the fire, was an Elven rune on her wrist. It was a pinker shade and thicker than the rest of her skin. Burned into her otherwise flawless wrist was a mark of her kind.  
  
"You are a thief."  
Amoran opened her eyes and turned her head to the side. Her hand lay upon her pillow beside her head and she had a clear view of the rune, distinct in the light of the fire, just as it was that night.  
"Perhaps it was too harsh for one so young."  
  
"No. I learned from my mistake."  
The mere voices, of herself and that Elf, whispered in her mind, but the images of another event, far before that one, appeared before her closed eyes, still so obvious in her memory.  
Smoke from the hearth and many pipes collected in the rafters low overhead. The air was thick with the scents of wet Men, meats, and ale. It also smelled of the wood that burned in the hearth, a short distance from where she was positioned.  
  
The tavern was busy, as the rains had driven many travelers for shelter. It was not completely unexpected; it had already been a dismal spring. Roads and paths were nothing but rivers of mud and no sun had shone through the dark clouds for days.  
  
Guttural laughter rang in her ears.  
  
She sat on a man's lap, one of his hands resting on her outside hip, the other on the handle of his pint. He spoke to his two comrades, also sitting at the wobbly wooden table. The girl, for she was little more than such at the time, followed his lead and laughed lightly herself. He appreciatively, yet possessively, placed a kiss on the junction where her jaw swooped to meet her ear. His beard tickled and she laughed louder.  
  
As the man returned his attention to his companions, her eyes fell upon a sight not rare in these parts but not overly usual either.  
  
Tall figures, clad in fine brown cloaks, had their hoods drawn and were sitting in the far corner of the room; each positioned facing the display of drunk wet Men. Their heads would move slightly as Amoran imagined they spoke. A log burst into flames and for a moment she could see the bottom half of one of their faces, his lips moving slightly.  
  
She felt the hand on her hip tighten, gathering the dress firmly in his grip, but paid it no heed. The girl waited for another log to burst, to catch another glimpse of the hooded persons. But after a few moments, she gave up the hope and her eyes moved down the length of the figure closest to the fire.  
  
Something glistened in the firelight. Amoran's eyes grew wide as they fell upon a dagger's hilt, sheathed on the belt at his waist. She looked elsewhere around the room for a few minutes, wandering from grimy hands on wooden mugs to weary faces to sodden cloaks to the dull blades of cheap swords.  
  
But a light green stone on the hilt of the dagger blinked at her in the firelight, and she found herself staring at it from the corner of her eye.  
  
The sound of an empty mug hitting the wooden table caused Amoran to slightly jump. This triggered the man below her to laugh and wrap his other arm around her, holding her possessively to him. He laid a kiss on her collarbone and purred something against her skin, but she shrugged off his ministrations and whispered a nonsensical response to his murmurings.  
  
She intentionally set her gaze upon a wooden figure horse set on the hearth's mantle. Somehow, she pried herself from the man's grasp, paying his objections no thought. Soon, she stood before the large fire. The woman rubbed her hands over her arms and looked as if she was seeking some warmth.  
  
The figure was no more than two arms' worth distance from her. She paced a short while, glancing up into the smoky rafters and into the fire itself. The cloaked individual so close to her, turned slightly, and she knew he was looking at her. Instead of avoiding his glance, she let her hair fall across her face and play shy. Apparently taking her as no threat, he turned away.  
Soon came her chance, she barely remembered it anymore. But the next thing she could remember, she was kneeling beside the table to the left of the hearth, more specifically, next to the Elf.  
It was so quick, swifter than she could ever hope her eyes to follow. An iron grip bit into her wrist and her knees went weak. The Elf pushed back his hood and she gasped.  
  
"Amoran!" The shock on his face mirrored her own.  
  
"Halla!" She heard her meek voice whimper.  
She quickly tried to push the memory from her thoughts. Amoran did not want to see what followed. Like a child, she couldn't stand the reproach on his features. Her hands flew to cover her stinging eyes and burning cheeks as she sat up swiftly, too swiftly. Nausea overwhelmed her and she fell back onto the bed, curled into a ball.  
  
* * *  
  
How swiftly moments faded and disappeared into the past. Their memories remained like ghosts whispering in the night and teasing with unsubstantial visions.  
  
Legolas had enjoyed the festival, as best he could, but now that it was over, it marked a passing of time that he resented only as he had one other in the past. Another festival would come and another after that. There were uncountable celebrations in the future, and before he would notice the changing of spring to summer, the first snow would've fallen. As it always was.  
  
But no festival would be the same. How could it be? She would be gone, following the path his closest friend and confidant had already tread. He loved her and would miss her so.  
  
Their time was coming to its end; he could feel it in the world about them. It was if the very air was stale with age. Their eternally young lungs longed for the salt air of relief and peace. She had already stayed there so long, longer than her eldest son had been able to endure, and he could not ask more of her.  
  
Legolas looked across his father's study and watched the king. He stood silently looking out a long and stretched window down upon his people that paced the night paths. Thranduil watched the Elves as they walked the night as they always did.  
  
The Elf prince sat upon an armchair in the far corner of the private study, close to the licking flames of the fireplace. His father had not moved for some time and had paused in the midst of a statement, stopped as if it were no longer important. He now wondered if his father had forgotten his presence.  
  
Though time loomed heavily at the outskirts of Legolas' mind, he knew it was an even greater weight upon Thranduil's very self. This caused an unease in them both that at this moment was expressed in their silence and thoughts.  
  
So often, they had to pay time's passing no thought as it had little significance on their lives, but there were times, such as these, where it came looking for them and would not be ignored.  
  
How long until he'd follow her, Legolas asked himself. How long could he stay away from her?  
  
Legolas could remember the look of pain and loneliness that had marred her beautiful face when her first born had left. They had been so similar. Both felt the pain, and for a time, his mother had found another to share her burden.  
  
For several long minutes, he had feared that she would break and follow. Legolas had reached out and grasped her hand, a grip he would not easily let go. Little did he know that his father had done the same.  
  
That grip had held her there for so long, too short in Legolas' mind but he would have had her stay until he deemed to join her and that thought still seemed so far away. Yet now, she chose to leave. It was her right after all, Legolas had to remind himself.  
  
His eyes had wandered to the flames and he watched as they spit and grasped into the cool air. He heard his father sigh, and again he wondered how long it'd be till the king followed.  
  
Would he even stay? Would he join her in the end, unable to stand the thought of being without her?  
  
The idea scared Legolas. He would be alone: his father, mother, and brother gone. He would be solitarily responsible for the people of Mirkwood. Legolas knew he could not handle that responsibility, one that was never supposed to be his.  
  
Darkness spread through Mirkwood and the Elves were merely able to keep it at bay. It seemed to be growing as they faded. The Enemy's numbers were rising while theirs were only falling. He rested his chin on a fist and set his face stern.  
  
*I won't leave.* His father's voice cut through the silence and Legolas' eyes tore from the flames.  
  
Thranduil stood before the hearth, his hands held determinedly behind his back. He looked to his son with sympathy, as if he had heard his thoughts as clearly as if they were his own. Such thanks and love grew within Legolas that he knew words to be inadequate. He only hoped that his eyes could convey the feelings as they had earlier his thoughts.  
  
The king nodded his head once and turned his gaze to fire.  
  
*Not yet,* was murmured just under his breath.  
  
Not yet, Legolas repeated in his mind. His mother had told him the same, not long ago. Was his father aware of that? He thought not.  
  
The night had grown long and Legolas knew he should not stay. If he did, his mind would dwell on things that were best left to their own devices.  
  
He stood and walked to the king. His father placed a hand upon his shoulder, not taking his eyes from the flames. Legolas placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as well.  
  
*Do not wander tonight,* Thranduil advised, turning his strong gaze to his son, *you should try to rest. I know you are tired. Sometimes . . . it is best to just forget, even for a little while. It does not mean we are any weaker. It just means we know our weaknesses.*  
  
Legolas silently agreed. A moment later, he walked from the room, leaving the king contemplating in the face of flames.  
  
It had been a lovely festival, but now it was over and their time to forget was over, as well. They both knew that.  
  
* * * 


	13. A Morning in the Snow

* * *  
  
Chapter Thirteen: A Morning in the Snow  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas walked down familiar corridors, nodding to those he passed. At a few intervals, he stopped politely and talked to those he was expected to; some he enjoyed, a few he did not.  
  
The palace air was not cool, but was not overly warm either. It was a pleasant in-between that Legolas took to be quite agreeable on a winter day such as this.  
  
He had awoken that morning with an energetic tension in his body. It had been far too long since he had escaped these stone walls. Legolas needed to feel a breeze on his face and the smells of a clean winter enveloping him, washing away all else.  
  
The Elf had come across Nichae earlier and had been told that new snow had fallen that morn. His mind decided then that he would go see it for himself, and he asked Lireal if she'd care to join him.  
  
*I wish I could, Legolas. But I am just on my way to meet with Gildawen.* She had said. *Tomorrow?*  
  
*Of course. Bring Nichae?*  
  
*I will. Gildawen, as well.*  
  
Still, it could not wait until tomorrow. He had to go today, as an unusual bout of impatience had come upon him. But he did not wish to venture out alone; he had had quite enough of that feeling.  
  
It had been Lady Lireal who had suggested the girl, whose chamber he now found himself advancing towards.  
  
*She has yet to rise. Two days! Three days counting this morn, which I do not. I have given up rousing the girl. Perhaps you would fair better. What say you, Legolas? Would it inconvenience you too greatly to drag the mortal along? No? Good! Make sure she dresses warmly; she would catch her death by cold if she had her way.*  
  
A guard stood outside the door, speaking to another across the hall. Both saw Legolas and their conversation came to an abrupt end.  
  
*News?* Legolas indicated her chambers.  
  
The one beside the door shook his head.  
  
*None, My Lord.*  
  
*Very well,* He sighed, *I would like to speak with her.*  
  
The guard turned and knocked on the wooden surface. They waited. He repeated the rhythm a number of times, each becoming louder than the previous. Finally, Aegnor opened the door and stepped partially through.  
  
"Amoran." He called.  
  
There was a groan, followed by the rustling of blankets.  
  
"Go away!"  
  
Aegnor turned back to Legolas with a silent question. The Elf nodded and the guard opened the door to allow him to pass.  
  
*She is decent.* He informed the prince.  
  
Legolas stepped through and the door was closed behind him.  
  
The air was heavy and too warm, filled with the fragrance of charred wood and stale from lack of movement. A lively fire lit the room. The candles were barely spent but had not been lit.  
  
Towards the middle of the chamber sat a bed. A sheet was kicked and strewn on the floor beside it, fallen after giving a proud fight. A bundle of sheets and blankets was knotted together towards the top of the mattress. Somewhere in that heap, laid the woman Legolas came for.  
  
"Amoran?" He called, hoping to coax her out of hiding.  
  
There was a grumble from within the mass.  
  
"Amoran." Legolas tried again with a harder tone, venturing to pull on the hem of a white sheet.  
  
"Leave-Me-Alone." She whimpered.  
  
He pulled on the sheet with a quick tug and a face was revealed, eyes shut and mouth set in annoyance.  
  
"Aegnor!" She objected, opening her eyes. They grew as she saw who was there. He smiled charmingly down on her, somehow annoying her further.  
  
"Good morn." He greeted, a little too cheerfully for her liking.  
  
She grabbed back the end of the sheets from him and held it as a bundle under her chin.  
  
"Where's Lireal?" She asked, eyes searching the room. "She hasn't visited me today."  
  
"She is visiting a friend."  
  
"Grown weary of me already? So much for Elf endurance." Amoran teased, her eyes sparkling with the jest, though sleep still weighed heavily in them.  
  
"Nay. She shall be back." He answered. "Until then, will I do in her stead?"  
  
Amoran thought a moment, pressing her lips together, causing the Elf to laugh lightly at her indecision. She smirked, rising the sheets to her lips.  
  
"Not much for you to do," the words were muffled in the cloth, which she raised over her head, "I'm just going to sleep."  
  
"That is not what I have planned for you." He stated, as if that changed everything. Amoran could not tell if he were jesting or not, her head under sheet.  
  
"Oh, is that so?"  
  
He bent to the side of the bed and opened one of the drawers beneath. A set of eyes peeked out from within the covers as he began flinging pieces of clothing on the mattress beside her. The bed shook slightly as drawers were pushed in and pulled out.  
  
"What do you plan to do with me?" A muffled voice asked from beneath curious eyes.  
  
He threw an undergarment onto the bed and rose, an unnecessary hand on the mattress to level himself.  
  
"When you first came here, you pounced on any excuse to leave this room. Now you would rather stay and sleep all day? That is quite disconcerting." He reached out to touch her forehead and she instinctively ducked beneath the covers. "Are you ill or just growing slothful?"  
  
She grumbled under the sheets to herself.  
  
"What was that?" He asked. Of course, he had heard what she had said but it had been an inappropriate answer he was not meant to hear, and he was in a giving mood to leave it at that.  
  
"Where am I going?" She questioned, throwing back the blankets and sitting up determinedly. Her hair was a mess; luckily, it had been plaited or else it would've faired worse.  
  
"The Oak Garden." Legolas answered, bending down beside the bed again.  
  
Amoran tried to push a few of the wayward strands out of her face. "Oh."  
  
She leaned over the side of the mattress, to see what the Elf was doing. As she did so, Legolas rose right in front of her. He smiled and handed her a brush.  
  
"I shall be outside." He informed. Amoran tried to untie her hair but only resulted in causing the wayward strands and more to fall back over her face.  
  
"In the garden?" She asked. Legolas laughed, lifting up the strands from her face as if it were a veil and cocking his head to see under.  
  
"In the hall." He answered, dropping them again.  
  
Without another word he quickly left the room.  
  
Amoran looked about herself on the bed, sheets tangled around her knees. She spied the pile of clothes she was to wear, the pair of boots on the floor, and finally crossed her eyes to look scornfully, and foolishly, up at her disheveled hair.  
  
"This shall take forever." She sighed, causing the veil to dance with her breath.  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas could smell the freshness of winter about him. The air was cool and the snow was soft under his feet. With each gentle crunch, he traveled further from the walls that had felt so burdensome to him of late.  
  
The trees' branches were heavy and frosted in the snow of the last few days. He sent a sidelong glance to an oak that rose at the side of the clearing as he heard a distressing creek of a branch.  
  
In the distance, a heavy sigh and short string of curses whispered in the air and he stopped in his steps, sinking no more than an inch into the soft flooring. He listened and heard her drawing closer. Finally, the top of her head and then her body bobbed into sight over a small hill in the path.  
  
Her breathing was a little louder than usual and she had her heavy cloak tightly wrapped around her body.  
  
"Are we stopping here?" She asked, smoke accentuating her words as her warm breath invaded the cool air.  
  
"No." He answered, with his own little bit of smoke. "I was waiting for you."  
  
"How considerate." She remarked off-handedly. "How much further?"  
  
Legolas raised a hand and pointed a short distance up the path.  
  
"All right." She sighed, pulling her feet out of the snow in which they had started to sink and began treading up the path.  
  
He stood where he was and watched as she clumsily ventured onwards. She could not linger in one spot too long, lest she allow herself to sink into the snow and have the bottom of her garments soaked. Amoran placed a heavy foot down and it quickly sunk up to the knee. She struggled and pulled it out, swiftly climbing back to her feet. Legolas tried not to laugh, witnessing a woman have such difficulty with her environment.  
  
How did these Men survive any variance in their fragile lives? They were like leaves on the wind, having no choice in where they went or how they arrived there. Such a fate Legolas could not understand. The uncertainties would be so great, that he could not imagine living such a life. An Elf's life was not without uncertainty but there is always the promise of another day; mortals had not even that to guide their hearts upon.  
  
Legolas was surprised as he felt a sudden respect for this mortal girl that was climbing her way through the snow, which spared her no pity and bit at her ankles with each step. She turned to him and saw that he still stood where she had left him.  
  
Amoran wrapped the cloak tighter around her body and smiled.  
  
"What are you doing down there?" She asked, an eyebrow raised at him from her elevated position. "Watching this klutz stumble her way about?"  
  
"I would not call you a klutz." He assured, climbing the path easily and swiftly finding himself by her side.  
  
"Yes," She noted critically, "You'd find a more eloquent word for it that was both insulting and not at the same moment. A talent only immortals can master."  
  
Legolas appeared slightly insulted and walked past her on the path. She turned and watched as he continued on. Her eyes squinted as she observed the Elf's retreating form.  
  
* * *  
  
The sky was a gray-blue that appeared as a blanket balanced on the tips of the treetops. Legolas felt that if he were to reach upward, he'd touch and hold the sky in his hands. It was tempting, but he knew he would hold nothing but air.  
  
Strange that, through the over haze, the sun still shone brightly, giving no warmth to those beneath it but lighting their thoughts and the burdens of their minds. What Legolas would have given to have the stars come out of their hiding at that moment and join the sky.  
  
At times, he would stay in a garden, after all had drifted safely away, and wait for the mergence of night and day. The sun would cast itself into a fiery bed and the moon, in the blue above, would be the first to show, then one by one, stars would spot the sky. For a brief moment, the beauty of the day joined with the beauty of the night and, together, they were more than they were apart. The sight stole Legolas' breath away, as if he were privy to some great rendezvous between the two, not meant for the eyes of others. But as the sight was beautiful, the moment was short. As the force of the night only grew and intensified, the sun faded, a mere glowing shadow in the West.  
  
"It was never so cold."  
  
Legolas' thoughts were awakened by Amoran's shaky voice. She stood atop a bolder; one that had once shot a head taller than the archer out of the ground, but now was nearly covered in snow. Her eyes were fixed downward, as if she saw something greater in the white substance than he.  
  
She turned her gaze across the short distance, to where he stood and waited expectantly. Amoran huffed into her hands, which made a small hollow sound between them.  
  
"When I was a little girl, it never seemed cold. At least, I do not remember it now."  
  
Legolas paced in the snow, listening to the soft crunch as it delicately supported him. He crossed his arms over his chest.  
  
"I know very little of you." He noted, perhaps talking to Amoran, perhaps not.  
  
She sighed in a sort of laugh, not of the amused or happy sort.  
  
"What would you want to know of a human thief? Our paths have merely crossed for this moment, and once this is over you shall soon forget of me and all the associated words." Amoran replied, sitting down on the stone surface and placing her hands over her ears, as if she didn't want to hear, but in actuality it was merely to keep the cold from them.  
  
"I shall not lie. I have had many conversations in my life, with many people, and not all stay vivid in my mind. Most likely, any words I exchange with you shall eventually share the same fate, but anticipation of a future insignificance should not detract my actions of today. If I were to allow such a thing, I would spend every day in utter boredom and a constant state of forlorn." He stopped and looked to Amoran as he spoke, his eyes cool as the ice about them and his face fair as all his kin.  
  
"And who am I to judge significance?" Legolas asked with a lighter air, "Perhaps later, a conversation with you will bear consequence on my actions. Who am I to tell?"  
  
"You are far above me, and truthfully should not give me a second thought. The fact that you are, unsettles me." She answered truthfully.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I don't know what you want, and if I want to give it." Amoran took her hands away from her ears and wrapped her arms about her knees.  
  
"Perhaps I want nothing but to speak to another." His words were calm and he seemed to have drawn closer to her.  
  
"I don't believe that."  
  
"And it is said Wood Elves are an untrusting folk." Legolas remarked with a small smile. The gesture made Amoran's lips want to follow. She didn't want to be in a somber mood; she wanted to be happy.  
  
There were a few minutes of silence. Legolas paced in ever closing weaves, his feet leaving soft marks in the snow and his face to the sky. Amoran merely watched him, not trying to hide her gaze, appraising his actions and intentions.  
  
"You just want to talk?" She asked, interrupting the silence, which had not seemed uneasy but transitory.  
  
"At the moment, yes," was his answer.  
  
"And what about the next?"  
  
"I know not. I might wish to climb a tree and sing."  
  
Amoran laughed shortly to herself.  
  
"Elves," she murmured under her breath, almost as a mother watching children play in the mud. Legolas hid a smile and sat on the boulder beside her. She moved slightly away, arranging herself comfortably again.  
  
"Very well. I suppose since you're most likely going to forget my words in any case, we can talk." She announced as if she had come to some weighty decision.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Amoran smiled to herself finally. She was beginning to become accustom to his humor.  
  
"How old are you?" Legolas asked in an offhand manner to start their conversation. She looked to him, appraising his intention. He was serious.  
  
"You once told me never to touch an Elf's bow . . ."  
  
"Without permission." He interrupted.  
  
"Yes, without permission," She began again, "Well, never ask a woman's age."  
  
"Without permission." Amoran added, anticipating his question.  
  
"Do I have your permission?" He asked, with a beautiful, innocent look that made Amoran want to slap him.  
  
"No." She answered sweetly. He laughed to himself.  
  
"But you can ask me?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"That seems unfair."  
  
"You were not the most open about the subject either." Amoran reminded.  
  
Legolas sighed and hanged his legs over the side of the boulder, the tips of his boots disturbing the snow.  
  
"When I was still young," The Elf changed subjects and leaned back, his hands supporting him on the surface behind, "my brother and I would play incessantly in the snow."  
  
He looked to Amoran and saw her smile, before continued his story.  
  
"Oregaladh, my brother, and I would play and play, from the dawn's breaking from night, till the fall of day and sometimes past even that. We would run from my mother," He laughed at the thought, "when she'd come to retrieve and shepherd us back inside. I remember her calling to us, exasperation in her voice. She tried to sound stern but I could hear her smile. We would climb the trees or hide in the shadows, trying to silence our snickers.  
  
"As time went by, I do not know whether we became too efficient in our hiding or if the shadows grew darker but it took my mother longer to find us. And no more was her voice happy and playful when calling to us, but insistent and, now I believe, slightly fearful.  
  
"Oregaladh was always the first to step out and comfort her. He was never able to stand any hurt coming to her. They were one in the same, you see?" He looked to Amoran and she looked back curiously, "My brother and mother. I take more after my father and I am thankful for that."  
  
"Why? Do you not love your mother?"  
  
"No, of course I do." Legolas corrected swiftly, sitting straight, "It is merely that my brother and she, alike as they are, have always carried a heavier burden, one that I would not wish to be my own. You understand?"  
  
"Yes." She answered. For a moment, Amoran pondered asking the whereabouts of his brother but decided against it. Why, she did not know, other than a sentiment she felt emanate from the Elf.  
  
"My brothers and I played in the snow, as well." She added. He turned his attention to her and waited for her to continue.  
  
"Three were older than I and we always joined forces together, against the others. We would play War. We'd build little hills and hide behind them. And then we'd scrape together the snow around us and throw them as tight balls at the others. Slowly we'd run out of snow and start eating away at our little hill. But someone would start crying before we ran out, always one of the little boys. My older sister would yell for us to stop.  
  
"They always seemed to be crying, but now that I think back on it, they were little more than babes."  
  
"How many brothers do you have?" Legolas asked, pulling up a knee under his chin.  
  
"Five, last I knew." She answered, "I also have an older sister and a younger one that was an infant last time I saw her."  
  
"Eight in all; that is quite a family." He noted, smiling at the thought of so many siblings.  
  
"Yes, and sometimes it was suffocating. Someone was always crying, yelling, hungry, cold, and sick. The house was too small and the food always disappeared before I saw it. At times, I absolutely hated them." Amoran rubbed her hands over her calves while speaking, not looking at Legolas but at the trees behind him.  
  
"You hated your own family?" He asked, trying not to sound judgmental but a taste of it was apparent in his tone.  
  
"Not all of them," She tried to explain, "Usually just the little ones. And it wasn't hate . . . I don't know what it was. I was only a child, myself. His children, I resented them, and him. They were always crying and grabbing and breaking things. You may not understand this, but a mortal's life is hard. Every day, was a struggle. The reason we have so many children is in the hopes that some of them might survive. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that a number of my siblings were dead right now. My oldest brother, who always looked after me like a father, was crippled in a farm accident a short time ago. Now he's so depressed and not eating. They say the pain is unbearable. My littlest sister, the one that was an infant when I left, this shall be either her seventh or eighth winter, I'm not sure, but she became ill as a little girl and now she can't even count past seven."  
  
"Indeed," Legolas spoke softly yet firmly, raising his chin from atop his knee, and looking so deep into Amoran's eyes that she thought that he could read the words upon her very soul. She tried to avoid his bright eyes, turning her face away and looking to him from their edges as he continued, "I can not imagine a mortal life, as you can not imagine that of an immortal. I will not say mine is harder than yours, for our burdens, though great as they may be, are quite different and cannot be compared."  
  
"True." She whispered under her breath.  
  
Both thought to themselves for a moment, each consumed in their own world.  
  
"Oregaladh and I played a game very similar to the one you described." Legolas spoke, his tone lighter than the one he had previously used. He slid off the boulder and took a few steps away. The Elf bent to the ground.  
  
"There's only so much one can do with snow." Amoran's eyes followed his movements, suspicion causing her muscles to spring to the ready and her knees to draw up closer to her chest.  
  
"Would you care for a game?" He asked, standing straight and tall, compacting snow within his gloved hands.  
  
"Don't." She tried to sound serious, but he could hear the smile that she refused her lips. Legolas threw the snow that was only lightly compacted and it crumbled against her knees.  
  
Amoran sent him a stern glare and slid off the boulder as he had earlier done, but with less agility. She approached him and the glare melted.  
  
"That's not how you make a snowball." Amoran berated, hands on her hips.  
  
"I wished not to hurt you." Legolas smiled, forgetting their previously solemn state.  
  
"My little brothers have thrown snow that hurt more than that," She teased, "And they stood barely taller than your knee."  
  
Legolas laughed.  
  
"Does this mean you care to play?"  
  
"The first to ten kills wins." She replied, walking away from him.  
  
"Kills?"  
  
"Hits." Amoran explained, looking at the terrain about her.  
  
"How morbid." He stated, his arms crossed over his chest, watching as she scouted the land.  
  
She looked to him and smirked. Amoran had found a small hill of snow the apparently had fallen from a broken limb: perfect advantage point.  
  
"Rules," She began, "No aiming for the face and no climbing trees."  
  
"Trees?" Legolas asked innocently, searching for his own advantage point, "Why would I climb a tree?"  
  
"Just don't. It's unfair. Agreed?"  
  
"Agreed." He responded, ruling out trees as his advantage.  
  
Without turning, he moved slightly out of the way as a missile of snow flew past him and crumbled against the tree he had been looking up at. Apparently, he was to fight this battle without a fort of his own. Legolas bent to the ground and gathered up snow, keeping an eye on the hill that Amoran hid behind.  
  
* * *  
  
"That was a horrible excuse for a snowball, Amoran!" Legolas teased, weaving in and out between the trees that created the perimeter of the clearing.  
  
"Did it hit you?" Her voice called back.  
  
"No." He laughed. "You haven't hit me for some time. Are you tired?"  
  
"Ha!" Legolas could hear her excited breath and her hands scraping snow. "The game has merely started."  
  
"It appears to me that it is coming to its end." He stopped behind a tree and tried to peer around her protective hill. He could see the toe of one boot. "My tally is eight in my favor."  
  
"And five in mine. I can still win."  
  
Another snowball was hurdled at him and he didn't even need to move out of the way, as it landed safely in the branches of a tree a short distance from him.  
  
"Four was my count. The last one was a ricochet."  
  
"Counts!" She objected.  
  
He smiled to himself and walked lightly on the snow, making only the slightest sound in his ears. Legolas weaved between the trees and made his way till he was nearly right behind the woman.  
  
Her gloved hands bit into the snow and quickly compacted the clumps together. Several of the missiles already were to her side.  
  
She was stockpiling, Legolas noted.  
  
Amoran rose and was about to throw another snowball, one in each hand, when she saw that he no longer stood where he once did.  
  
"Legolas? Where . . ." She murmured to herself. Legolas stepped out of the clearing and she turned just in time to receive a blow to the shoulder.  
  
She squeaked as cold snow flecked onto her cheek and neck. With the surprise of the moment, she fell back onto the hill she had been hiding behind. Amoran now sat facing him, snow on her cloaked shoulders, hair, and in her hands.  
  
"Nine." Legolas announced.  
  
She threw the two snowballs and the Elf was only able to move out of the way of one.  
  
"Seven." She called back, tripping her way to her feet and running away from him futilely.  
  
"Six, counting the ricochet." He corrected, bending down and retrieving one of the missiles she had already prepared. He would only need one.  
  
"This isn't fair." She objected as he walked slowly towards her, his hands behind his back clasped around the snowball.  
  
Amoran stood in the middle of the clearing, too far to hide behind trees or boulder. With her fort taken, she was conquered. Her eyes were already wincing in anticipation of the blow.  
  
"You wish to surrender?" He asked magnanimously, still advancing towards her, but releasing his hands and letting them hang at his sides.  
  
"Ha!"  
  
"As you wish,"  
  
She stepped back to escape the blow but merely tripped over her own feet and landed soundly on her rear. The snow crumpled against her left shoulder, over her heart and she sat wincing seconds after it had come.  
  
"I'm dead." She whimpered with defeat.  
  
"No," He corrected. Amoran opened her eyes and he stood looming over her, smiling victoriously. "I merely have won."  
  
"What hope had I against an Elf?" She asked rhetorically.  
  
"I did not win because I am an Elf," Legolas explained, "I won because I am the Master of Snow Fights."  
  
They both laughed at his words and Amoran took his offered hand, rising from the cold flooring. He dusted some of the snow off her shoulder, while she shook herself slightly to do the same; she had been utterly bombarded within the last few minutes.  
  
She looked to the sky.  
  
"It's near noon. Are we going to go inside or is food coming to us?" Amoran asked.  
  
Legolas took a step back; he had noticed that she seemed uncomfortable with him any closer. He began dusting what little snow he had on his person off.  
  
Nonexistent snow, Amoran thought to herself. He was merely doing it out of habit or to make her feel better.  
  
"I had not planned lunch." He answered, looking to the sky as well. "Though I should have."  
  
There was silence for a few moments as thoughts came together and organized themselves in Legolas' mind.  
  
"Since I roused you from your slumber to play in the cold, would you care to join me for a warm meal?" Legolas asked, positioned towards where they had came.  
  
"Inside?" She moved her hands over her cold arms.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ah, yes then. Warm sounds good." Amoran agreed, advancing with him down the path.  
  
They walked and spoke of things of not great importance but that both wished to say. Little things that had little consequence. Legolas strolled and forgot why he had so desperately needed to go to the garden and that he had wanted to share it with Lireal. The words he had spent with Amoran, both giving and receiving of a small memory, spread over his ache like a soothing balm and he was grateful for the woman's company. He had needed to speak and laugh with someone, and though neither she nor he was aware of it, so did Amoran.  
  
* * * 


	14. An Expected Change

* * *  
  
Chapter Fourteen: An Expected Change  
  
* * *  
  
Days passed over the Halls of King Thranduil. Soon, they turned into weeks, more than Amoran could have counted upon one hand, if she should have tried.  
  
Fresh snow had fallen thrice since the Elf and Thief's initial fight. Now the snow grew hard and unfriendly beneath their feet, solidified by the constant chill. The sky remained its gray blue from dawn till eve, day after day; the sun hiding and waiting for its time that was soon to come.  
  
Amoran preferred this snow to its soft and fresh brother. The ground, though harder and unforgiving, was stable and would not give out beneath her. This state was preferential on her walks, as it was not so difficult to keep pace with Legolas while he padded along lightly, speaking softly to her, humming to himself some tune, or quietly contemplating.  
  
Too soon did the wind's bite dull and the gray begin to fade to a lighter hue. Too soon did the snow falls cease and its predecessor grow old beneath their feet. For Amoran saw each sign of winter's waning and tried to ignore them away.  
  
She had become accustom to this life, as Men had the tendency of doing. So often, in her mind, the walls would disappear and she would feel free in their confinements, as a child does in the arms of her mother. But a child could not turn her face from the world forever, as Amoran could not find permanent peace and comfort in the Elves of Mirkwood.  
  
Days seemed shorter and quickly were they fading away. More and more often, Amoran would find herself turning to Legolas, watching him while he thought, waiting. Waiting for him to turn and to tell her it was time and then for it all to wax away while she returned to her life once lived. That day seemed so near, yet so far away, that she wished for it to come only to relieve her of the anticipation. Yet, all too soon would it come.  
  
The wind cooled her cheeks and nose while the rest of her body was wrapped warmly in thick overcoats, undergarments, two layers of dresses, cloak, mittens, and scarves. A warm breakfast sat in her belly and a bird sang just at the farthest reaches of her hearing.  
  
She was content, as she thought it possible of being, while they waited for the others to arrive. Amoran paced to and fro, side to side, while she wondered when they would arrive. The woman strained her ears, in a vain attempt to hear them approach, though she knew she would not hear them unless they cared not of their voices or wished her to.  
  
Amoran looked to the ground, and all she saw was the same: white, bland, plain, colorless . . .lifeless. For a moment, she felt completely alone. But the presence of a glance upon her tore her eyes away from the ground up to a tree and a pair of eyes, settled upon her.  
  
Legolas leaned against an oak, quietly contemplating, as he often did. There was one difference from the ordinary: his cool eyes were settled upon her dark ones. She had felt the power of that glance before yet never had she caught it with her own.  
  
Amoran shifted uncomfortably, uneasy with herself.  
  
"What are you thinking?" She asked. The sound of her voice startled her with its foreign tone.  
  
"Do you feel it?" He questioned in turn, neither moving eyes nor person from where they had been.  
  
Her eyes searched about them swiftly, her body fidgeting. She finally looked back to him.  
  
"Feel what?"  
  
"Spring is nearly here," his words cut through her as she suspected they would, "I can feel the earth awakening around us."  
  
Amoran breathed slowly in, then out, bringing her hands, safely folded away in mittens, before her mouth to cover the gesture.  
  
"Yes," she answered, "I've felt it."  
  
"I thought you did." Legolas stated, pushing away from the tree and standing of his own accord.  
  
"When will we leave?" Amoran heard her voice ask.  
  
"We will wait until a good portion of the snow has melted." He responded. Legolas saw the question upon her face before she worded it, "Two weeks . . .perhaps."  
  
"And how long is it going to take to arrive at your uncle's?"  
  
He smiled shortly.  
  
"A few days."  
  
"Horses?" She questioned.  
  
Legolas nodded his answer.  
  
"Remember that I'll need mine accoutered for riding, in the manner of Men. I cannot make a journey bareback, as would an Elf."  
  
"I shall try to remember that." He promised, a hint of patience, and slight amusement, in his tone.  
  
"Then it should be a pleasant enough journey." Amoran concluded, wrapping her arms around herself.  
  
There was no response from Legolas. Had she expected there to be one?  
  
Silence between herself and the Elf never bothered her, as she was quite accustomed to it in her life. In her journeys, there was rarely true company and even then it was not always worth, or safe, conversing with. But, in this case, time seemed so short and opportunities limited.  
  
"Time is such a fickle thing," she found herself saying. The subject had been overpowering in her mind of late, as it focused on the outside world. Her body was weary from the thoughts in anticipation of the burden it would once again be forced to carry. She longed for her thoughts to find a concrete form, for them to be expressed. And, perhaps, some outward concurrence of validity?  
  
"Indeed, it is. Quite so." Legolas' voice spoke calmly, in his Elven way. How she would miss the beauty lent to the tongue, so common as it tended to be. "At times, we forget its strength, its consequences and affects fading to the outer rims of our minds, and to a numb pang in our hearts. Once we forget that we are subject to its will, it seems to sense this and take it upon itself to remind us."  
  
"You speak impersonally." Amoran tread lightly on the hard snow, harsh crunches objecting to her every step.  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow inquisitively whilst she approached.  
  
"Royal We. You speak of your people, for your people." She explained.  
  
"I did."  
  
"But I do not address your people." Amoran continued. "I have little need of reference to Elven ways and Elven thoughts." Her voice shook slightly. "I've learned enough of those."  
  
"Did you not wish a response?" Legolas asked, looking to the woman quizzically.  
  
"Yes, from you." Amoran attempted to elaborate. "I don't desire impersonal distances at the moment. It's too cold for that."  
  
"A feeling of melancholy has come upon you." The Elf stated, rather than asked. "Too long have you spent in our presence, it seems. As it appears to be taking ill affects on your state of mind." Amoran laughed hollowly.  
  
"Aye, perhaps." She allowed. "But Men suffer such the same as Elves."  
  
"So I am told." Legolas omitted in an offhand manner.  
  
"By whom?" The woman asked, with a sudden serious air.  
  
She was met with silence.  
  
"How many Men have you spoken to of such things?"  
  
"I have not been locked away in these woods and caves, Amoran. I have seen much of the outside world." He answered with an air of defense, though he knew not why.  
  
"And what have you seen?"  
  
"What have you seen? What causes you to think that what I see should differ from the world you see?" He walked closer and his greater height leant an advantage as he could easily look down upon the woman, who was trying to hide the reactions to his closeness and tone.  
  
"Because you are an Elf."  
  
"I am quite aware of that, Amoran. Give me another reason."  
  
"Because I see with the common eyes of a common girl; born, raised, and living in that world. You look upon it with stranger's eyes. That world is my own, yet you are a visitor." She tried to explain, words coming out before she could filter and think wisely upon them.  
  
"You believe that world to not be mine? Middle-earth is as much mine as it is yours." Legolas stated, resolutely.  
  
"Perhaps, it once was." She barely whispered.  
  
He sent her an appraising glare from under his dark brow. She struggled to not shiver under the intensity.  
  
"Do not look at me like that." Her voice was soft but determinedly unwavering.  
  
His gaze softened.  
  
"I just wanted to talk." She explained.  
  
"Whenever we speak, we speak of our differences." Legolas calm voice answered.  
  
"Then let us speak of similarities."  
  
"What similarities?"  
  
Amoran shrugged with a smile.  
  
"Let us find them."  
  
Legolas smiled in turn and Amoran's could not help but grow. He was so beautiful when he smiled, the thought occurred to her. Of course, he was always beautiful.  
  
"They are here." Legolas announced as if letting Amoran into some great secret. Her smile twisted as she pondered on whom he was speaking of. But her mind soon understood, and laughter and voices trickled into her perceptions.  
  
She turned in time to see Nichae and the Elf she had come to know as Gildawen enter seemingly out of no where. Lireal was behind them, laughing with contentment whilst two others spoke at her sides. Amoran's smile fell, as she knew her conversation with the Elf had effectively come to an end.  
  
"Another time, as we will have much on the journey." The warm breath tickled her ear before she turned to see Legolas walk past her and greet his friends.  
  
* * *  
  
The air smelt of pine and some favorable mix of wild flowers. It's perfume just hinted at the outer rim of her senses, adding the subtlest spice to her presence. Crickets chirped their nightly serenade, the leaves rustling in the faint breeze added their own airy chime to the song. The gentle ebb and flow of the lake, to her right, trickled into her perceptions. A slap rang out as a particularly strong current threw itself against distant rocks.  
  
Cool water gathered around her exposed ankles. The air was warm and comforting, as if she were folded within warm sheets and blankets.  
  
No light reflected off of the dark pool of water. All of her senses comprehended it as a dark abyss, save one. Her cooled ankles objected and corrected, registering the chilly, slick touch of water.  
  
The reflected darkness, spanning all of her sight, absorbed the warmth of the breeze and she felt a shiver cut through her.  
  
Her mind grasped for light, cried for the sun, and searched for any sense other than the cold and dark of nothingness. Strong feelings of loneliness assaulted her and her mind hunted for the calming song of the crickets and leaves. Anything to remind her that she was not going to be there alone.  
  
She could not stay, and knew not why. Hands, invisible to her eyes for they did not reflect in the dark water, pulled, cold against her skin. She tried to shrug them away, but they were not there.  
  
This seemed perfectly normal to the woman and she cast no thought onto where this sudden bit of insight came from.  
  
She was acting silly; she should have laughed. Always so silly, the thought melted in her mind.  
  
Nothing could touch her. No, and suddenly there was fear.  
  
The darkness of the lake about her was gone. She must have cast her gaze skyward without thought, sensing the warmth there.  
  
The treetops lined one side of the new view, sharp tops floating through the endless sky. A full moon shone down upon her, its light warm in her eyes and welcomed against her skin. Stars, so many stars, twinkled in the sky, peppered against the greater darkness. They were so beautiful, each one of them. Together, they were breath taking. How her heart long to hold just one.  
  
A soft touch ran itself against her cheek. Its presence was warm and assuring as the breeze had once been. Instinctively, she leaned into its heat and was not surprised to find the presence of fingers, and a hand. Before her, he stood, hand outstretched and now running itself through her hair.  
  
She was going to speak, but it didn't feel right.  
  
He smiled.  
  
He was so beautiful when he smiled. Of course, he was always beautiful.  
  
Content filtered through her at his touch. His warmth against her gave her the strength she hungered, and cold darkness of before was forgotten. He was so close and his eyes so bright that her breath caught and refused to be released from that moment. His touches were whispery and his arms around her bore no extra burden.  
  
Her heart pounded and she would've sworn then that she could feel his doing the same. He laid a finger upon her lips and she felt a pang within her chest, her mind wishing her to breathe.  
  
Looking back on that moment, she should have wondered, asked. She should have been skeptical of this new closeness, but nothing was further from her mind.  
  
No, she could not think for her heart sang at the sight of him, the feel of him.  
  
He held her close and his finger disappeared from its place of rest upon her lips. And too joyful and pleasing was the realization that its place was taken by his own.  
  
She dared not move as the feathery touch deepened and she was filled with warmth. Finally, she sighed as her mind pulled back the reins of her heart. Her breath wished to stay in that blissful moment and give it all to him. But the consequences called out and she drew back her breath, lest she fall without it.  
  
"Amoran."  
  
She looked upon his face, still so fair. He wore a frown upon his gentle lips and ran a finger softly over the curve of her face. Her eyes closed to the feel of it.  
  
"Amoran."  
Her eyes opened, screaming with indignation at the intruding brightness of the firelight. She did not move, yet chose to remain still as she gathered her wits.  
  
Amoran was in her chambers, set aside for her, what seemed like so long ago, by Legolas.  
  
The woman's heart still cried loudly in her chest, and she placed a trembling hand over it in an effort to still its chaotic pulse.  
  
With a cool intake of air into her uncomfortably warm mouth, she sat upright, not taking her hand from its position over heart.  
  
"Are you all right?" Lireal's voice called softly from the foot of the bed where she sat.  
  
"Yes." Amoran croaked.  
  
"Your face is wan," Lireal reached out a hand and touched the woman's cheek. The girl pulled away swiftly from the gesture, "And tear stained."  
  
Amoran ran a hand over her face and felt the dried paths of tears.  
  
"You have wept this night." The Elf stated rather than asked. "A nightmare?"  
  
Amoran allowed a short laugh and nod.  
  
"A mortal's dreams would seem a very scary place indeed."  
  
"Aye," Amoran concurred, "they can be."  
  
The woman ran her hands over her face in an attempt to smother and wipe away the emotions and faint, lingering images.  
  
"What did you dream?" Lireal asked, slowly rising to stand before the foot of the bed.  
  
"That I couldn't breath." Amoran answered hesitantly. "That I drowned."  
  
The Elf looked to Amoran with furrowed brow.  
  
"Strange," Lireal noted, "You looked so peaceful in the end."  
  
The words lingered in the air as Amoran disentangled herself from the sheets about her ankles. She looked to the lady who stood at the edge of the bed. The Elf appeared distracted with some prevailing thought.  
  
"Lireal, what plagues you?" Amoran asked, thankful for the diversion.  
  
"Ai, today, I bid you farewell. Namarie, in our tongue." Lireal walked slowly towards the woman, her movements ever graceful. Her golden hair hung about her face, which bore the look of such attractive lament that only an Elf could achieve it.  
  
"I take we're finally leaving?" The woman folded her hands in her lap, an air of resignation about her.  
  
"Yes, you are," came the reply, "I do wish that I had spent more time with you. You are only the second Mortal I have ever properly met, and even that was not enough to know you, or your ways. I had wished to learn, but it seems that I became distracted and now the opportunity is lost."  
  
"I don't know what to say, Lireal." Amoran responded truthfully. "Rarely have I been in such a situation, where someone verily seemed to care about my comings or goings. But take heart, there are many Men, and I do not see my people dying out anytime soon, lest we do it to ourselves. And a great deal of those men would answer as many questions as you wished and spend as much time with you as possible just to look upon your fair face."  
  
Lireal smiled at the words and Amoran could not help but lightly chuckle at the thoughts her statements conjured in her mind.  
  
"Your things have already been packed and sent ahead of you to be loaded with the horses." The lady began, changing the tone to more practical and pressing matters. "You need not care of provisions. All has been thought of." The Elf stepped back so the woman could rise from her bed. Amoran noted that traveling attire that had already been laid out for her upon the mattress.  
  
"There are several changes of clothing included: the cloak that you shall wear, riding dresses, and several gowns for when you arrive at Lord Brilthor's manor. All has been taken care of. Consider these necessities gifts from the King, for they are yours now."  
  
"Thank you." Amoran whispered and slowly began to ready herself for the long ride, her thoughts sluggishly accepting that her surroundings were again to change.  
  
* * *  
  
Today was to be Amoran's first visit to Mirkwood's stables; sadly, she thought it also to be her last. It had been three weeks since her discussion with Legolas in the snow, since she was told to be ready. She had been blessed with an extra week, as the icy slush that had once fueled many a fight was too deep and insecure for even the steady footing of the Elven horses.  
  
But the time to leave could not stay at bay for all eternity, of which she did not have.  
  
A small crowd had formed around the readied horses, which Lireal was leading her to. The faint singsong voices filled the stable, which smelled predominately of hay. She searched the figures of the many Elves she could see present.  
  
Nichae's face rang familiar as he readied the saddle of a strong gray. Amoran expected this horse to be her own, as it was the only one equipped for riding. The Elf smiled as she and the lady approached.  
  
"Good day, Amoran." He greeted.  
  
"Good day," she responded in turn, "is she to be mine?" Amoran indicated the horse.  
  
"Yes, her name is Taszuluen." He answered, patting the beast lovingly on the neck.  
  
"She's beautiful." Amoran commented, coming forward slowly, making sure the horse could see her approach.  
  
"Yes," Nichae agreed, "And giving of spirit. She was the only one willing to suffer these bindings."  
  
He played with the leather reigns, distaste for them evident. Amoran fidgeted uncomfortably, guilt filling her for the beast.  
  
"Come and pet her." Nichae encouraged. "She is a loving creature."  
  
The woman did as she was told and laid a gentle hand to play in the horse's snowy main.  
*I wish you would bring a larger company, Legolas.* Lireal admitted, standing across from him, on the other side of his steed.  
  
*There should be little need for one.* Legolas responded, scanning his surroundings with an appraising eye. *I have already taken three from Nichae's party and two of my father's choice archers. And I need not remind you that I am not a weakling myself, Lireal. I doubt we shall come across anything that we cannot handle.*  
  
*I do not doubt your skills, Legolas,* Lireal corrected with a faint smile, which quickly disappeared, *Nor those of the other Elves present. But Amoran . . .*  
  
*Has survived on her own, without six Mirkwood archers to her side, before. She shall be safer now than she ever was before.* Legolas interrupted and the Lady silently agreed. *But if you must fret so, I suppose I could take Nichae.*  
  
A horrified look came over Lireal's face, and Legolas knew that only a portion of it was for his benefit.  
  
*No need, My Lord.* Lireal allowed a small smile as she backed away from the horse, clasping her hands before her. *Fair journey, my friend.*  
  
Legolas slightly inclined his head in acknowledgement, before she drifted away to Nichae.  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran stood before Taszuluen, petting the horse's nose gently. The creature played with the bit in its mouth, but other than that, gave no outward sign of complaint.  
  
*Come, dear Nichae, bid your friend goodbye, lest Legolas snatch you away from me.* The silky words caught Amoran's attention and she looked up to see Lireal standing beside Nichae. She took that the Lady was giving her good-byes.  
  
Nichae spoke a short string of soft words to Taszuluen before looking back and smiling to the woman.  
  
"This is where I leave you, Amoran." His words caught her slightly off- guard and her hand stilled on the mare's snout. "Fair journey."  
  
"You are not coming, as well?" Amoran asked, disregarding how needy the question was and how obvious the answer.  
  
"Nay, I am to stay in Mirkwood."  
  
"Oh," she sighed, "but I see no one else I know."  
  
Lireal laced her arm through his, reminding him of her presence. He grasped lightly onto her hand, which rested on his arm, reassuring that the Lady had not been forgotten.  
  
"Do not forget Legolas." Nichae said, brows furrowed as he was surprised that she had forgotten.  
  
"I have not. I merely do not see him." She looked about the stables and saw only foreign faces.  
  
"He is thither." Lireal motion to a stall across the length of the stables where an Elf, which Amoran now recognized to be Legolas, was leading a large steed out of its stall.  
  
"Ah, I see him now."  
  
"Namarie, Amoran, and fair journey." Lireal bid farewell and Nichae was swiftly led out of the stables, stopping shortly to exchange words with Legolas and a few others.  
  
Amoran sighed as she began to lead Taszuluen out by her reigns, which she saw the others doing. The horse stayed ever at her side, giving her no reason to pull the lead taut, still playing with the bit in its mouth.  
  
* * *  
  
"Amoran." The woman looked up to the sound of her name.  
  
The group of riders was already beginning to take form in the courtyard and Amoran stood beside her mare, unsure of what she was expected to do.  
  
Legolas motioned to her and she led the hose to his side.  
  
"You shall ride beside me." He indicated his right.  
  
Amoran nodded and quickly mounted her mare.  
  
"I see Nichae gave you Taszuluen." Legolas noted. "He is quite fond of her."  
  
"I could tell." Amoran responded with a smirk. "I believe Lireal was becoming jealous."  
  
Legolas allowed a smile to the comment but his attentions were swiftly stolen by the Elf to his left, armed with a short bow and quiver on his back, as well as a long sword in its scabbard at his waist.  
  
They spoke words Amoran could not understand. Restless, she looked at the riders that had formed behind her.  
  
Two Elves, very similar in appearance, so similar, in fact, that Amoran took them to be related, sat on Chestnut mares behind her. They were silent and waiting, their eyes searching their immediate surroundings, one with the air of boredom, the other with acceptance.  
  
There were also two Elves mounted behind them, though there were three horses present. The rider-less horse, a chestnut with three white socks, was strapped with their equipment and provisions. Amoran was surprised to see that the horse wore no reigns or any such device with which the Elves to its sides could use to guide her.  
  
The woman's eyes travel to the Elf on the last horse's right. She observed that he held his jaw tight and looked around subtly, as if ever expecting something to jump out of the dark. Amoran's eyes traveled to the last Elf and, finding him not the most particularly enticing sight of the group, her eyes refocused on the Elf behind her.  
  
His eyes were already upon her and her own widened as she wondered how long they had been. A ghost of a smile hinted on his lips and Amoran took an immediate liking to him. It was his eyes, she thought. The light green was soft and compassionate. The eyes motioned to her left and she followed their gentle order.  
  
"Are you ready?" Legolas had been looking to her, as well. She was feeling quite off-balance that morning. But with a dream as she had had that night, her nerves were confused at best. She flinched as she was reminded of her night's visions, at least those she could remember clearly, and she found she could no longer look Legolas in the eye and a heat came to her cheeks as she cast her gaze elsewhere.  
  
"Yes." She answered, with a voice that she hoped sounded stronger than she felt.  
  
"Good, then we shall be off." Legolas stated, and she was reminded what a strong voice was supposed to sound like.  
  
Whispers, gentle as a lullaby, were sung through the group and the horses began their journey forward. She needed not urge Taszuluen to her will, as she moved of her own accord, knowing what was expected.  
  
The group journeyed silently through dark paths, lit by the white flames of Mirkwood. Rarely did Amoran's eyes spy the figures of others on their path. It felt as if all the Elves of this place had pulled away, and were now hiding from her gaze. This saddened Amoran but she silently berated herself for her reactions. She was only causing herself more grief by holding onto what she had, for a short time, enjoyed.  
  
"So this is what it's like to fall in love with the Elves." The words barely formed on the tip of her tongue and sounded as nothingness to even Amoran's ears. But Legolas' were not so dull in perceptions and his brow furrowed as he looked to her sidelong. He would not ask her upon it, as he knew it was a thought not meant to be worded, but still his mind wondered what she was thinking.  
  
A familiar ghost caught his attention and he raised his gaze to meet that of an Elf Lady, clad in the deep greens of Mirkwood and a circlet upon her brow. She said no words, only stood on the balcony a short ways to the side, but she raised a hand out before her, palm outward, bidding him goodbye. He bowed his head and placed his hand over his heart. When his eyes returned, she was gone.  
  
A sigh escaped his lips.  
  
He looked to the Elf to his side, Melstoe, a rather protective archer, hand selected by his father. He doubted the Elf would leave his side whilst they rode. He cared little of this, save the fact that Melstoe was a poor source of company.  
  
Legolas turned his attentions to Amoran, and saw how tightly she held the reigns in her grasp. Her knuckles were nearly white with the act.  
  
"I wonder how the world has changed, whilst I've been locked away in my Mirkwood. I suppose I shall see your world now." He put an emphasis on the word "your" and Amoran could not help but to look to him inquisitively, wondering of the emotion behind the statement.  
  
He smiled and she flinched.  
  
"Yes, and perhaps we shall find some similarities there." Amoran cast her eyes ahead of her, but at the sound of his voice, she was looking upon him again.  
  
"Oh, yes, I had nearly forgotten about that." Legolas spoke truthfully. He was thankful to be reminded, and thus have something to entertain himself with, at least for a short while, upon the journey. "This shall require some effort. Similarities are much more difficult to find than differences."  
  
Amoran agreed and they quieted as both thought of separate things, not all that different. The clipping sounds of the hoof beats upon rock soon gave way to the soft thud as they fell upon dirt and yielding soil. Shortly, the protective Halls of King Thranduil were behind them, and they had set out upon a new journey.  
  
Spring had come and the freshness of life and possibility filled the chilled air. Where the sun should have been shinning brightly after the long cold months, it was quickly blotted away as the woods became darker, thicker, and much more menacing than anything Amoran had seen for quite some time. The group pulled closer together, and spoke rarely, and only with hushed voices. They would leave the woods as soon as they could, taking the long way round to reenter and make haste to his uncle's manor, positioned further south than thought wise. Several days' journey they were faced with, before they could expect to see hints of the full beauty of the sun and feel fresh air upon their faces again.  
  
* * * 


	15. The Long Road

* * *  
Chapter Fifteen: The Long Road  
  
* * *  
  
The rhythmic falls of the horses' feet beat their way onward into the darkness. Though the journey was dim and she was ever unsure of where she was going, Amoran knew the day to not have been spent and the night sky to still be waiting below the horizon, somewhere East, wherever that was. She could see only shadows beyond the nose of her mare. All was a dark and shifty blur in her eyes. Amoran hoped, and knew, that her Elven companions saw further upon their path. With this in mind, she paid no more heed to the trail but as a thing to cast her eyes open at times, for it was better left into the capable hands of her comrades. At the moment, her eyes were cast upon more pleasant things than the surrounding darkness.  
  
"To my left is Melstoe." Legolas began his introductions. The Elf he indicated sent an appraising eye in his prince's direction, hearing his name, but said nothing and it was quickly focused ahead of them again. "He is one of our finest archers, and one of those chosen personally for my father's favored battalion. He does not speak Common."  
  
"Behind you," He continued onward. Amoran found herself turning around and was pleased to see that she could still look upon, though not with the greatest of clarity, the face of the Elf behind her, and the ghost of a kind smile that seemed to always be on his lips and visible in his eyes, "is Beredil, youngest son of Beredhor, a counselor to my father. He and his brother are both from Nichae's hunting party."  
  
Amoran smirked slightly at the thought.  
  
"I take you were there that night?" Amoran questioned. The ghost of a gesture solidified and he was truly smiling.  
  
"Indeed, I was. You made a nasty thump when you fell. I hope you did not permanently harm yourself? " He asked, and she could only describe the concern in his voice as pure.  
  
"Nay," She answered, "I did not."  
  
"To his side," Legolas interrupted the exchange and Amoran's eyes returned to him, "is his elder brother, Belethil. His parents were overflowing with happiness when they were given him, and thus were a little . . . overly zealous with his naming. Little did they know they would be blessed with Beredil within a yen."  
  
Several Elven voices laughed into the darkness. Amoran smiled as their mood was quite infectious, but had no idea to the meaning. She looked to Legolas beseechingly, hoping for another piece to the puzzle, but it was Belethil himself who spoke.  
  
"I am hurt, my prince." His voice was deep with bridled laughter and he displayed a brilliant smile as he continued. "Do you not think me the picture of Divine Radiance?"  
  
Legolas only looked back for a moment, then to Amoran and began laughing. Belethil played taking offense, but even as he tried to scowl, the corners of his mouth quivered upward.  
  
"Do not fret, dear brother, it is not your show to those willing to watch that gives you away. It is your closeted temper that betrays you so. Nay, divine perhaps was overly zealous, but radiance I can understand, for it quite reminds me of a flame. And when you are provoked, I fancy that I see such in your eyes. But do not worry, those that are willing to watch your little show are not those who truly know you, and thus your 'friendships' with your maiden acquaintances are quite intact." Beredil's words were softly, but well, spoken and all those in the group had quieted their laughter to hear them. None spoke for a moment, as all thought upon his statement. Amoran looked to Legolas but saw that he was not focused on her but on what was to come, waiting.  
  
"Again, you baffle me with words, Beredil. It is your quiet weapon and you are well skilled with its sharp and unexpected delivery. Yet, with such an efficient weapon, one should always make sure their opponent is worthy of an attack." Belethil did not look to his brother but kept his eyes before him as he spoke.  
  
Again, there was silence.  
  
Legolas' eyes returned to Amoran.  
  
"Behind Belethil and to his left is Verhute."  
  
Amoran turned in her saddle to see whom he was speaking of. Unfortunately, the darkness was like a lacey sheet over the rearguard.  
  
"He is also from my father's favored battalion, along with Melstoe. Similar to his comrade, he does not speak Westron."  
  
The woman tried to file the names and information away in her mind, especially the observation of who did and did not speak Common Tongue. In case of an emergency, it would be useful to know such things.  
  
"Behind Beredil and to his right is Ithillian." Legolas spoke and Amoran did not bother turning, for she knew that there was naught for her to see. "He is Nichae's second in command and also speaks Westron."  
  
Amoran nodded in recognition to his words and found herself lulled by the rhythmic beating once again. The darkness, which should have left her drowsy and longing for rest, worked instead to keep her senses alert, though she knew herself to be relatively safe. There was just something strange about these woods, there always had been, for as long as Amoran's memory spanned.  
  
"Did the snow even touch this ground?" The woman's voice was whispery. Legolas kept his eyes ahead of him, cast into the darkness as he thought on her words. His eyes fell to the mane of his horse before sliding to gaze at the thief, and companion, to his side.  
  
"Such a small amount that it is not worth mentioning. The branches here are very closely nit, creating a patchwork so dense, that little gets through."  
  
"Then why did we wait for winter's passing?" She questioned, brow furrowed in thought.  
  
"Though the brightness of snow does not pierce this path, the cold does. It seeps through early and leaves late, its intensity nurtured in the darkness." Legolas explained. Amoran's eyes studied his face as he spoke, paying no less heed to his words. His face betrayed little, though Amoran fancied there was much beneath it. "The cold would hardly affect us, but it would affect you greatly in comparison. We could not have you freezing in the night. And, of course, there was snow where the coverlet of branches thins and eventually disappears. It would have been difficult for the horses."  
  
"Your actions are ever with wise counsel at their base. If only I had such for mine, then, perhaps, I'd be relieved." Amoran's words were little more than barely spoken, but were enough in the forest.  
  
Her eyes were downcast, as they often were in her thoughts. No, she had not truly spoken to him, but to herself, her mind taken from even her and immersed somewhere in the past. She sighed and turned back to him, and the now.  
  
"When are we to make camp?"  
  
Legolas allowed a short laugh. "It is still some time until then, Amoran. Are you already bored with my company?"  
  
Amoran laughed shortly herself, trying to keep heat from rising to her cheeks.  
  
"No. I'm the poor company. I know not what to speak of, which is worth hearing." She corrected.  
  
"Then would you care to play a short game?" Legolas asked and she raised an eyebrow in turn. "It will not amuse us long, I am sure, but it does relate to your little quest to find similarities between our peoples."  
  
"Very well, then." Amoran conceded. "How do we play?"  
  
"I give you choices, and you choose swiftly, without thought. Ready?"  
  
"Mm-hmm." She answered, though unsure of what she was getting herself into.  
  
Legolas thought a moment before he opened his mouth to speak.  
  
"Blue or black?"  
  
"Black."  
  
There was a short laugh behind them. "You must be pleased with our surroundings," was murmured.  
  
"Cat or dog?"  
  
"Dog."  
  
"You are hesitating too long."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"Day or night?"  
  
"Night."  
  
"Ale or wine?"  
  
"Well . . ."  
  
"No "well". You just answer." Legolas insisted.  
  
"But what type of wine?"  
  
"She does have a point," again came the murmur from behind.  
  
"You are not supposed to ponder the answer." The Elf protested. "Just answer: ale or wine."  
  
"Ale." She answered, purely to spite him.  
  
"High or low?"  
  
"Low."  
  
"Window or door?"  
  
"Window."  
  
"Sun or moon?"  
  
"Sun."  
  
"Voice or instrument?"  
  
"Voice."  
  
"Tree or cave?"  
  
"Tree."  
  
"Man or Dwarf?"  
  
"Elf."  
  
Snickers rained from the surrounding darkness, and Amoran blushed to see that Legolas laughed as well.  
  
"Good answer." He remarked before moving on.  
  
"Elf or Dwarf?"  
  
"Elf." She answered, before biting her bottom lip gently.  
  
"Excellent answer." Legolas seemed to have quite enjoyed her slip. A thought occurred to her, and she began to feel the heat in her cheeks fade as her thoughts focused elsewhere.  
  
"How is this supposed to help me in my want to find similarities?"  
  
"I can compare your answers to my own." He responded, distinctly avoiding Amoran's gaze.  
  
"That doesn't help me!" She observed.  
  
"Ah, but it does for me." He responded, not being able to help himself from turning and smiling with his jest.  
  
"We shall have to play your game again, you and I, with our roles switched."  
  
"Perhaps," Legolas looked away again, "but the road is not really for games."  
  
Amoran made a slight sound of indignation. "Very well, my lord, but we shall have to stop for camp eventually."  
  
She locked her eyes ahead of her, determined not to give in and look to Legolas, effectively nullifying the commanding tone of her statement. Little did she know that she had not even to look to him, her act of not looking was equally effective.  
  
The Eldar watched the woman for a moment in fascination: at times, she could be so many things, but always they wove back into one. Amoran was at times wise, and at others ignorant. She was capable of great melancholy but also levity. At times, she would act as a child, but with a turn in words, he would forget her youth entirely. Indeed, she was a not-so-innocent thief of many masks, but under them all she was the same. Yes, he could have grand thoughts on what may be laying behind there. Perhaps, a truly innocent girl that knew naught of the world she was cast upon, capable of so much more. A grand woman underneath the mask, who merely had lost her way and would soon reclaim it. But he knew that they were no more truth as they were solid entities before him. No, he had come to the conclusion that she was not some fantastic thing draped in the clothes of a burglar. She was but a woman, without the great strengths that he might have envisioned, without the great plans and hopes that he had imagined. Indeed, she was but a common woman, not blessed with these greater gifts that would lighten her load, a more common load than perhaps even he would be willing to admit. And that, was what intrigued him so.  
  
The road had merely begun, he reminded himself. There would be sufficient time to quench his Elven curiosity upon it, for that is what he thought it to be and did not envision for it to grow beyond such. After all, she was but a common woman.  
  
* * *  
  
Several days had passed since he and his company had set out from his father's halls. The trees grew closer together and the darkness remained a tangible entity. Where they were once able to proceed on Elven sight alone, they now required the light of lantern to lead their way through the shadows. They had passed the protective aura that helped to shield his father's last great city of Mirkwood and its people. These parts of the woods were not favored grounds for fell creatures, for they were still too close to the Elves and their bright eyes and sharp arrows. No, few creatures had the audacity to tempt such a fate.  
  
They'd rather sit just outside the line of where one was safe from where one was not, hoping for a wandering fool to get caught in their webs.  
  
These thoughts did not dull the memory of the foul stench that he and most of the others had caught upon the air earlier that day. It had not been strong. No, it had been just the barest hint; enough to tease, and warn.  
  
When several pairs of eyes fell upon him, he had silently ordered for them all to continue. It would not do them good to pause with such foul warnings in the air. Legolas had not said a word of it until that night, when they made camp.  
  
That had been about two hours before. He had sent out Ithillian and Melstoe as soon as they stopped. They both had slipped into the shadows and Amoran did not even see them leave. He would've preferred to have sent another with them, but thought, perhaps, that their lacking in numbers would aid their stealth and he did not wish to risk more than he had to.  
  
The rest of the company were gathered somewhere in the middle of the path, the fire in its center. Amoran laid a short distance from him, curled in on herself, asleep. Beredil sat across the fire listening to a soft song that Belethil was half singing and half humming. Verhute stood just at the rim of where the fire's light faded and bled into the night, staring into the surrounding darkness with his back rigid.  
  
He had told them not to go far, and Legolas knew they would soon return. Just as he was beginning to become slightly worried for the two's safety, they stepped into the light a short distance from where Verhute stood guard.  
  
Both proceeded over to where Legolas sat, Verhute joining them along the way. Seeing that the Elf had quitted his position, Beredil rose and took Verhute's place at the outer ridges of the light.  
  
*Do you have anything to report?* Legolas asked as all three settled before him.  
  
*Yes, we do.* Melstoe responded, placing their lantern on the ground beside him. Ithillian inclined his head as well. *For quite some time we journeyed and came upon nothing to worry an Elf. But as we drew further southeast from camp, rare was the occasion that a squirrel scurried across our path. Life began to dwindle more and more as we proceeded, as if they had been wiped out.*  
  
*Or eaten.* Ithillian added, to his side.  
  
Legolas' brow furrowed at the suggestion, and Melstoe continued.  
  
*We began to come across webs in the branches,*  
  
Ithillian unconsciously wiped at strong, silvery webs that were still clinging to his sleeve.  
  
*The webs were broken and abandoned, old. But as we drew further away, they were not as old and many were not broken by time . . . or other things.* Neither Melstoe's face nor voice betrayed any emotion save impersonal curiosity at what he was speaking of, as if it were a problem to be solved.  
  
His companion took over where the Elf left off.  
  
*The air began to reek of something noisome, and we considered returning, finding that to be enough evidence to the presence of some loathsome creature, but we decided against it as, though the smell was putrid, it was old, several days old. We decided to continue onward. Finally, we came upon the source of the stench.  
  
*There was a large web low in the branches, spun haphazardly, and rolled in the midst of it were the twisted remains of an Orc. All that could be has been consumed days ago. There were several other helms and crude weaponry caught in the web.*  
  
*The spider must have been very hungry, indeed, if it were reduced to Orc flesh.* Legolas noted.  
  
*Winter is never kind to such beasts and it had obviously exhausted its food supply in the area.* Verhute added, on the same line as his prince.  
  
*Do you have more to tell?* The Elf turned back to the others and he received his silent reply. *How close did you find this?*  
  
*Too close.* Ithillian answered.  
  
*Little more than two leagues.* Melstoe responded more helpfully. *I agree with Ithillian; it is too close.*  
  
*What is your suggested course of action?* Legolas asked.  
  
*I suggest we break camp and continue onward. The further we journey, the better.* Melstoe gave his answer.  
  
*That would be my advice, as well.* Ithillian concurred.  
  
*Verhute?* The prince prompted.  
  
The Elf had no need to think.  
  
*That spider must have been near starving to brave Orc flesh. I doubt one, or even several, Orcs could satisfy such a hunger. We are not safe. Hunger could drive a spider to risk pain or mortal wound in the hopes of catching only one of us. It is not as if they have not tried so with a full belly in the past, either. I would not have us linger any longer than we must.*  
  
Legolas nodded his agreement as his eyes wandered over the small clearing. Belethil's eyes were focused on the fire, but they rose to meet his and Legolas knew that he was overhearing their conversation, and waiting for his decision. Beredil still stood with his back to the group, but no doubt he had heard as well. Amoran was the only one who laid asleep and unknowing.  
  
They had rode long that day, in the hopes of journeying far from that pervading hint of a stench. When they had finally stopped, she had looked near exhaustion and she now slept deeply. He thought it unkind to wake her, though he knew he must.  
  
*One hour,* He answered, his eyes still upon her slumbering form. The others' eyes had followed and knew his reasoning, *We will give her one more hour.*  
  
* * *  
  
"Amoran," His soft voice called to her and she moaned in protest, "you must wake."  
  
The woman blinked her eyes in the darkness, trying to banish the sleep from them.  
  
"It can't possibly be morning, already!"  
  
Legolas sighed. She could barely see him in the dark, as the fire had already been extinguished and only two lamps lent their light to her aid, and they were across the path from where she was, held in the hands of Beredil and Melstoe. Her eyes widened as she saw that they were already mounted upon their horses. She looked about herself quickly, and noted that all had already been packed away, including the bedroll that she thought she had fallen asleep upon.  
  
"Indeed, the night is not yet spent, but we cannot afford to tarry any longer. We have found evidence of Orcs and spiders not far away." He took a hold of her elbow and helped her to her feet. Amoran looked puzzled, as one does when fed too much information too close to when awoken. "We shall have to ride hard today, to achieve as much distance as we can. We cannot stop to set camp until we are sure that we are relatively safe."  
  
"I understand." She murmured as they walked over to where Ithillian held Taszuluen's reins.  
  
Amoran accepted them and quickly mounted the mare. With a string of soft words echoing down the group, the horses advanced onward. The woman looked about herself in the hope of waking her mind. She was surprised to see that Ithillian now rode to her right, so that all four front riders nearly took up the whole width of the trail. Behind her, Beredhil, and the second lantern, had been switched with the rider-less horse and rode beside Verhute in the rearguard.  
  
"Do not worry," Legolas' voice rose and soothed her in its Elven manner, "my people have lived in these woods for millennia and we are well acquainted with its ways, and those of the dark creatures that lurk in its shadows."  
  
* * *  
  
They rode hard through the remaining night and long into the day. Little words were spoken, and there was a stillness in the air. The footfalls of the horses sounded loudly in the silence and Amoran found her nerves frayed, waiting for anyone or anything to stir.  
  
Her body was tense and it screamed with its lack of sleep and movement. It had been quite some time since Amoran had rode this long on a horse. In fact, it had been a very long time since she had rode on a horse. She had spent months in the Halls of King Thranduil, never once upon a mount, and then she had been traveling with those Men. There were no horses there, and before that . . . It must have been at least a year and a half since she had last sat upon a horse for any amount of time.  
  
Her muscles were crying loudly with indignation.  
  
She did not want to bring attention to herself. Amoran did not want to be the one to break the silence and slow their movement, but quickly that choice was being taken out of her hands and her weary body was making it for her.  
  
"I must get down." She threw out the words before she could procrastinate any longer about them.  
  
Legolas turned to her with questioning eyes, as her statement had caught him deep in thought.  
  
"I must get down." Amoran repeated. Legolas inclined his head shortly in understanding.  
  
"Daro." He whispered and she heard it flow down the line of travelers, lending their voices to its call. Taszuluen stopped in her step, as did every other horse.  
  
Amoran took advantage of the halt and swiftly dismounted the mare. Her feet met the hard, dark ground eagerly. She could feel every muscle in her legs and back pulling and easing to support her weight. It was a lovely feeling after the torture she had endured for what felt like days.  
  
The woman heard a rustle of clothing and turned to see that Legolas had dismounted as well and stood shortly ahead of Taszuluen and his own steed. He began walking ahead and she, with a hold on her mare's reigns, followed.  
  
The group forged onward, with the two of them walking beside their horses. Legolas reached out and took a gentle hold of her hand, the one that led Taszuluen. She was surprised at this and all but froze at the gesture. It was no tender caress, as it urged her towards him and to free her grip on the reins.  
  
"You have no need to lead her. She shall follow on her own."  
  
She let free her grip on the lead and the horse shook her head upward at the new freedom. Amoran didn't know that she had been pulling on the animal so forcefully. Surprisingly, he did not let go his grip of her when she released the mare. Instead, it gently pulled her toward him until she stood between their horses and to his side.  
  
"If you must walk, you are safer here." He explained, gently freeing her hand from his grasp. Amoran looked about herself and noted that he was right. She was now buffered by two horses to each of her sides and any attack would have to first go through them. Though the darkness ahead of her was quite disconcerting. There was no buffer there, save a soft ring of light cast from Melstoe's lantern. But she doubted she would be more at ease if there were. Amoran surmised that she would not like the inability to see something coming just as much as being face to face with the darkness.  
  
But it was so very dark. It felt as if they trod into some great dungeon pierced by neither window nor door. She felt her chest tighten at the thought of imprisonment. Amoran stared deep into the darkness, hoping to find some small indication that there was an end in sight. But, alas, there was not, and her eyes and mind were filled with the weight of shadows. A shiver traveled down her spine and she felt consumed with a feeling of no control. Her feet stumbled over a rock, no more than a pebble, which she had not seen in her obsession with what laid ahead.  
  
Legolas noticed her stagger and reached out a hand to her aid. She grabbed at it, and at the horse to her side, taking a strong grip on both. The woman quickly regained her balance as she tripped out of her thoughts. She eased her hold on the horse's mane, and patted the animal lovingly in apology.  
  
The feeling of being off-balance had not left her as she had hoped when they had set out upon that road. In fact it began to grow with each passing day and she did not like it in the least. It was as if the shadows about her only cast her into more confusion and her mind twirled itself dizzily in their presence. Amoran did not feel that she possessed utter control over her actions and this disturbed her greatly. Even more disturbing, was the feeling that she was doing it to herself.  
  
In the maelstrom of her thoughts, the wearies of her body had been forgotten, and now that she found herself returning to them, she found them subdued. It would not do for her to walk any longer, she decided, and turned to Legolas to tell him as much.  
  
Her eyes widened as she saw that she still held a grip upon him. She looked quickly to his face to see his reaction, but he walked onward, paying it no heed. Amoran quickly released the grasp, hoping he did not realize it, but that was what caught his attention. He turned back to Amoran questioningly.  
  
"We can ride now." She answered simply, before turning and mounting her mare.  
  
Legolas was swift to follow and the group's pace increased appropriately. As soon as she was back seated upon Taszuluen, it was as if she had never rested in the first place, as her body resumed its cries of protest, but she was not going to dismount again this soon.  
  
* * *  
  
*She shall not be able to ride on much longer.* Melstoe observed to the Elven prince's side. Legolas sent an appraising eye over the woman beside him. She nodded, fighting the urge to sleep and give into her body's weary desire.  
  
*I know.* Legolas replied simply. He thought for a few moments of silence. *There is a clearing not far off. Perhaps, we could halt there for a short time.*  
  
Melstoe had mistaken the conversation to have been ended and was slightly surprised that Legolas continued and that he would consider stopping.  
  
*I fear we are being watched.* Melstoe informed.  
  
*I also feel this,* Legolas paused in thought, and looked worriedly to Amoran. She was struggling, *but I do not sense them draw nigh.*  
  
*We could safely camp in a day and a half's time.* The other voiced, sending a wary glance into the shadows surrounding them.  
  
Ithillian shook his head on the other side of the woman as he looked sympathetically at Amoran. She seemed not to notice all of this going on about her as she tried to keep her mind from sinking into the darkness. Taszuluen was a tall mare. It was a long ways down and she did not trust her sense of balance.  
  
*A day and a half are not the same for a mortal.* He reminded.  
  
*Ithillian speaks truth. Amoran cannot wait for even that mere amount of time.* Legolas voiced his thoughts.  
  
*Perhaps,* Belethil's voice spoke softly from behind. Legolas did not turn, but listened all the same, *she could ride with one of us, my lord. Then she could sleep without worry of injury.*  
  
Legolas shook his head negatively.  
  
*No.* He looked to the woman again with concern. *It is not simply sleep that her body craves, but an end. It tires swiftly of this ride. No, we must stop and soon.*  
  
Melstoe mentally sighed.  
  
*My lord,* He began, before Legolas rose a hand to stifle his words.  
  
*We shall stop at the clearing.*  
  
The decision was made.  
  
* * *  
  
"Amoran." Legolas' voice roused the woman as she again nodded out of fatigue.  
  
"Yes?" her voice called back wearily, as she turned her attention to him.  
  
"There is a clearing not far off, only a few hours more. We shall stop there to rest." She focused on his words as well as she could. A few hours seemed like forever to her. "We need you to ride until then."  
  
Amoran nodded her understanding.  
  
"Hand me your reins." His voice ordered softly and she obeyed without thought.  
  
He took the leather straps and wound them in his hand. Legolas spoke soft words and Taszuluen drew close to his own mount. He held onto the, now short, lead.  
  
"Ithillian."  
  
She heard him call to the Elf on her right.  
  
*Draw nigh beside her.*  
  
Amoran looked to him and hoped it was not her wearied state that was at fault for her confusion over his last words.  
  
Legolas smiled to her and she couldn't help but smile back. He gently took a hold of her left hand and placed the reins in its grasp. The Elf enclosed her hand with one of his own.  
  
"It shall not be long." He promised, squeezing her hand reassuringly.  
  
* * *  
  
They had been riding for near three days with only a couple hours' worth of short breaks. This was a mere annoyance to the Elves, while downright exhausting for Amoran. Several times, she awoke upon Taszuluen, not realizing she had fallen asleep. Each time, either Ithillian or Legolas had righted her.  
  
She had considered, in one of her more cognate moments, that she would have to talk to Legolas about his definition of "a few hours." For surely, that had passed days before.  
  
*I thought her to be a traveler.* Belethil spoke his thoughts into the night.  
  
*She cannot help her physical limitations.* Legolas responded, gently steadying her as she began to nod off again. *And we know not how she usually travels.*  
  
*Slowly, I would think.* A voice murmured from further back.  
  
*None can travel swiftly in Mirkwood.* Legolas reminded.  
  
*Indeed.* Belethil agreed. *Not anymore.*  
  
A short silence fell upon them as each retreated to their own thoughts and hushed watch on their surroundings. Amoran murmured something in her sleep- like state and her eyes fluttered closed before swiftly opening once again.  
  
*I thought we would have arrived there already.* Legolas voiced. Melstoe turned to the prince but said naught. He was still slightly miffed that they were to stop in the first place. It was Ithillian who spoke.  
  
*You are still thinking in terms of Elven travel. We have been greatly slowed by the mortal girl . . . and will continue to be, I believe.*  
  
*Yes, I think you right* Legolas murmured back. He sent a glance back to Amoran as he prepared to right her again, but it was she who caught herself in time and straightened as best she could in her saddle. Amoran's eyes raised to his and he would only describe her look as utterly exhausted.  
  
"Do you mortals always tire so swiftly?" He asked and flinched at how harsh the question sounded when spoken. She sighed.  
  
"No." Amoran answered. "It is these woods. I am not a stranger to hard travel, though I usually do so at a more leisurely pace."  
  
She paused for a long while, sending a long look into the shadows about them.  
  
"The darkness wearies me. If only I could see some light, some end in sight. Then, perhaps . . ." She sighed again and fought to sit straight as her shoulders slumped in their weariness.  
  
"You are truly a child of the sun." Legolas remarked. "The woods shall soon start to light, Amoran. Take heart."  
  
The woman nodded and they returned to the silent battle to keep her awake as they traveled onward into the never-ending shadows.  
  
"I'm getting old." She remarked. He looked to her strangely for a moment.  
  
"You are still young, even for a mortal."  
  
"Nay," Amoran said perhaps stronger than she meant, "I'm swiftly becoming too old for these roads. They give no pity and overlook no weakness. Oh, what am I to do?" Her words quickly faded as she spoke them, until their ending were barely even uttered.  
  
*Take away a mortal's sun and how quickly they fade.* Belethil spoke from behind. *How did she ever fare well in your father's halls?*  
  
Legolas chose not to answer the other's question and instead focused his eyes on a clearing that he could see approaching just outside the ring of light.  
  
"Look, Amoran," He instructed and she did as she was told. Her eyes saw nothing but darkness. "We are here."  
  
She looked back to him with a weariness in her eyes.  
  
"I see naught, Legolas."  
  
He pointed ahead.  
  
"Look again."  
  
Amoran did so and nearly laughed, she was so relieved to see the little clearing, and a small shaft of light that broke through the branches onto the ground.  
  
"I have never seen anything so beautiful." She remarked as she tried to dismount. Legolas was soon at her side, helping both her feet find the ground, as Ithillian steadied Taszuluen, who was equally eager to be rid of the weight of her rider.  
  
Swiftly, the others dismounted and each took their appropriate places without need of another's order. Belethil handed a blanket to Legolas and the Elf followed over to where Amoran had already laid herself upon the ground. Belethil and Beredil took care of the horses while the others promptly began inspecting the clearing.  
  
Amoran was fast asleep upon the hard, cold ground, dead to the world, beside the small patch of light. Legolas sprawled the blanket out over her and stood to go stand watch beside Verhute; he hoped that his decision was not ill made, but he could not see having Amoran suffer longer than she must. Yet, now that they were stilled on the path, the sensation of being watched grew stronger and he found himself doubting his choice.  
  
Verhute stood with his arms folded over his chest and stared into the surrounding dark woods as if there were some opponent before him that Legolas could not see. The Elf looked to his prince as he stood by his side shortly, before returning his eyes to the shadows ahead.  
  
*Do you believe I have acted foolishly?* He asked and the other Elf did not turn, but kept his eyes focused on his watch.  
  
*Your choice was made with a kind heart. You did not wish the girl to suffer any longer than she must. How could I call that foolish?*  
  
Legolas' face eased from the anticipation that he did not know he had been displaying at the words. He felt as if a large burden had been taken from within his chest.  
  
*Of course, such a caring decision will not be of aid if some fell creature chooses to vent its bloodlust upon us.*  
  
The prince turned to look upon the ancient archer and for a moment thought he saw a self-amused smirk upon his Eldar face, but he shook his head and attributed it to the vague and lack of lighting about them.  
  
*Why, thank you, Verhute. You are always such a light voice in these dark times.* Legolas' words sounded less troubled than he felt as he spoke to his fellow.  
  
All he received in return was a slight incline of the head and the feeling that he was once again a little Elfling under the tutelage of one of his father's favored archers. Assured with himself that he had made the appropriate decision, he stood contented by Verhute's side, joining him in their watch. The others took similar posts as they waited for time to slowly pass and for the woman, curled in upon herself under the comforting presence of an Elven blanket, to awake.  
  
* * *  
  
"No-o-o . . ." Amoran whined as she felt a hand shake her shoulder and an annoying voice calling for her to wake. "Go away!"  
  
She turned onto her belly and pulled the blanket over her head. The damage was done; she was awake and knew that she should not return to sleep.  
  
"Legolas," Beredil called to the Elf, *She refuses to wake.*  
  
Why couldn't all creatures of Middle-earth speak the same language? It would make everything so much easier.  
  
"Amoran." She heard Legolas' voice calling from just outside her makeshift shelter. "You must wake. We have tarried too long as it is."  
  
She whimpered a few more choice words before throwing the blanket off her body and across the clearing where she could not reconsider and turn under it again. It caught in the air and landed softly in a heap next to Ithillian and Belethil. Both watched the offending object for a few moments, sliding a glance and raised eyebrow to Legolas and Amoran, a distinctly Elven trait the woman believed, and returned to their conversation.  
  
"I'm awake." She assured as Legolas looked back at her from having watched her little display.  
  
"So it appears." He offered her a hand, as he stood tall and looming above her. She took it and was soon on her feet.  
  
She looked about her and saw that, once again, all was prepared for their departure and they only now awaited her. Suddenly something occurred to her and she spoke without thought.  
  
"The light! 'Tis gone."  
  
Indeed the small shaft of light no longer fell upon the cold, hard earth where Amoran had been sleeping.  
  
"The day is spent, Amoran." Legolas explained as the two made over to the horses, which already awaited their riders. "Hopefully by morrow's eve we shall reach the outer edges of these woods."  
  
"Good," Amoran voiced as she mounted Taszuluen, giving the animal a loving pet of the mane. Legolas was already upon his, "good. The sooner we depart, the sooner we shall arrive there."  
  
The prince smiled sidelong to her before replying, "Then we shall keep you no longer."  
  
With the, now familiar, utterance of an Elven command, the horses trod their way onward. The end was near, Amoran could feel it, and the thought gave her strength. Yes, one more step upon the path tread, and she hoped the next to be easier, and perhaps, with time, she could move onward without thought. She found herself weary, though not in the way of body, but in mind. Amoran did not wish to play host to this dark guest. It had never been easy and she found herself forlorn to think it ever would be. Though currently, her trials were much different from those passed. But, now, she was different from whom she had been, and it saddened her to think that the change was not for the better, but she had not strived for it to be, thus should she feel loss?  
  
The woman shook her head; it would not do her well to be caught in the treacherous web of these thoughts. They could not be helped but they were much better left alone. That is what she had to do, focus her mind elsewhere. But there was naught for her to see on this road, for it only led her to some other nameless place, did it not?  
  
She sighed and turned her attention to Ithillian. He looked strong, inhumanly handsome, of course, and wise. Yes, he looked like an Elf. She knew nothing of him, and found herself not wanting to know more. Though naturally there had to have been more. They all seemed to have everything, and that was only with the first glance. And if one wished to frustrate one's self further, one could try to learn more of the Star People, and see that they had even more hidden behind that stunning façade. It was quite unfair, but Amoran could not find it in her self to resent them. She never could. And she hurt herself because of it, knowing that she should, that she had the right, but no . . .  
  
Now, Legolas, what was different there? The difference was that, slowly, so that she had not even noticed herself doing it, she began to look deeper, because under it all, she was still that little girl, ever curious of the hooded men in the shadows. That was a familiar trap she set for herself, her unnatural curiosity. Luckily, time had long ago leeched it of its driving passion. Its end was burned upon her and she would never truly forget it.  
  
Forget it, she would not, but that did not waver her from her path. It spoke to her wisely, but not always did she heed to what was wise and in her best interest. For, in the short run, she was not strong enough to control her mind, which tended to mirror its former self.  
  
She looked back to Legolas and wondered if time indeed did run in such short circles before turning back on itself. If so, how could the Elves stand the monotony? She cared not, Amoran quickly reminded herself.  
  
A thought came to her and she felt a familiar pain at its creation. Of course, perhaps, it was not time that repeated itself so, but her. For in the end, was it not she that made the choices? Was it not she that chose this road? No, it was not. This road, now, could not have been helped.  
  
She mentally sighed and berated herself as she realized that she had once again been consumed. It was these damned woods. It was they who cast her thoughts inward where they did not help to lay.  
  
Who was she to now be thinking such thoughts? There was a saying amongst her people: Leave forever to the Elves, now is for Men. She'd thought that she had understood it at the time, but long had she seen it in a different light.  
  
With effort she focused her mind upon what was about her: the fall of the horse hooves, the smell of dirt and bark, and the darkness that lay ahead. If she looked close enough, to the point that her eyes blurred and she truly did not see, she fancied that she spied the beginnings of light far in the distance. Of course, it was merely her mind playing with the flickering light from Melstoe's lantern, but she cared not.  
  
She merely cared that there was hope on the path that was to lead that nameless girl to some nameless place, as it had before.  
  
* * * 


	16. To Be Denied

* * *  
Chapter Sixteen: To Be Denied  
  
* * *  
  
A cool breeze swept through the many bare branches that had long lost their greenery, and the leaves of their eternal brothers. Trees stood tall as they had all along, yet held an unadulterated elegance that those before had been long burgled of. They grew further apart, with no need to cower and huddle together in the darkness.  
  
Sun and light creatures played in their branches, making rustling sounds that ringed cheerful in its nature. The ground was dark and grasses had began to spring from the rested earth, between brown leaves that had been stunted in their decay by the ices of winter.  
  
This was a welcomed sight to all of the travelers, some more weary than others, who found themselves in a small glen, green with new life and fresh with the vigor of spring. A creek cut through the clearing and the horses swiftly took advantage of its chilled waters.  
  
Legolas walked lightly across a fallen log, paying little heed to its slick bark and the dead moss that covered it. All about him was alive and he was vitalized with its rebirth. The air smelled sweet after days of that which was still and suffocated, lifeless. He looked skywards and greeted the yawning of the trees with a whispery smile.  
  
"I would think not, Beredil." He heard Amoran laugh as she and the other Elf fetched the water skins from the packs that rested a short distance off.  
  
"Truly?" Beredil asked, carrying two water skins in each hand and moving towards the creek, sparing a look behind to make sure Amoran followed.  
  
"Yes." She answered a little too forcefully. The Elf stopped and turned to the woman questioningly. "Yes." She answered more softly, walking past him.  
  
"I suppose if you say so."  
  
"I do."  
  
"Then, it is the truth."  
  
Legolas wandered a short distance behind the two, not so far away for it to be unknown to them, but enough that he would not unduly interrupt their exchange.  
  
"What's that mean?" Amoran asked, she laughed to add a lighter air yet it felt nothing but forced.  
  
"Naught but what I said." Beredil assured. The woman nodded in acceptance as they reached the waters. The Elf bent to kneel beside the creek's edge and dipped the water skins within. "Unless you think I meant something other than what I said. And then, what would you think I meant by such?"  
  
Amoran sighed and turned to Legolas as he approached.  
  
"Legolas, Beredil's teasing me with his word games."  
  
The Elf looked up innocently; Legolas hid a smile and put on a berating façade.  
  
"Beredhorion, must you always be confusing maidens so?"  
  
"I never said I was confused." Amoran interjected, handing Legolas a skin. They both bent beside Beredil, immersing the skins in the water.  
  
"See, Legolas," Beredil placed the top on the second carrier, "I have done no such thing."  
  
"You were not confused, Amoran?" Legolas asked, keeping his eyes locked on the bubbles surfacing above the skin.  
  
"Yes." She answered.  
  
"Truly?"  
  
"Yes." Amoran responded more forcefully than she meant to. She sent Legolas a warning glance as she pulled the skin out of the water and began on her second.  
  
"I suppose if you say so."  
  
Beredil snickered and leaned back on his heels to watch.  
  
"You're horrid." Amoran murmured, before sending a smile to Legolas. "Enough to drive a mortal to madness."  
  
"I am hurt!" Legolas feigned a wound over his heart. "Are you not, as well, Beredil?"  
  
The Elf smiled, "I think it is you, not I, she claims shall drive her to madness, my lord."  
  
"Is that so?" The prince asked no one in particular, "I thought it to be more a generality of Elves."  
  
"Ah, but I never said such." Amoran reminded, replacing the top on the last water skin.  
  
"Of course, many say what they do not mean and mean what they do not say. What is the use to those who indulge in such a game; for the art does not define them but serve to define what they are not. Knowing nothing of who they are, they find they are all but naught."  
  
Amoran looked to him a few moments and then smiled handing the skins to Beredil, who had rose as well.  
  
"I believe you have met your match, Beredil." The woman laughed.  
  
"Indeed. Well met, Legolas." The Elf laughed, backtracking to return the water skins to their proper places.  
  
"Was that not harsh?" Amoran asked after a moment, when she thought the other Elf out of hearing distance.  
  
"Nay, for the argument in itself is hypocritical. If I insult him, I equally insult myself, thus nullifying the original insult." Legolas stood from his crouching position as he spoke.  
  
Amoran looked at him blankly for a moment before turning away and shaking her head, looking to the horses downstream.  
  
"I believe you are having far too much fun."  
  
"You would not deny me such for a short time, in the midst of all that lays before and behind me?"  
  
Amoran smiled to him awkwardly.  
  
"Of course, for I would not have myself denied."  
  
Legolas nodded his head shortly in acceptance. The two walked lazily in silence by the creek's edge for a brief time, mirroring what they had done many a time before.  
  
"How long until we arrive at your uncle's? For I do fear, I have slowed us greatly." Amoran spoke, stopping in her advance.  
  
Legolas turned and walked a short distance back to her. He had wandered slightly ahead, as he was wont to do. "Not greatly," He answered, "I did not take into account the pace of a mortal. I merely relied on past experiences."  
  
"You're not accustomed to taking the ways of mortals into account." The woman stated, rather than asked.  
  
"So it would seem. You must remind me if I make the same mistake in the future." Legolas spoke, resting his hands behind his back and taking a leisurely pose.  
  
"And let it be on my head if memory fails me?" Amoran asked, her eyes betraying her amusement.  
  
"Yes, of course." He teased.  
  
"The day is almost spent. It feels as if I just became accustomed to the sun, and now it is nearly gone. It saddens me." Amoran looked to the sky before wrapping her arms about her self, clinging to the deep-green cloak, "It'll soon be dark again."  
  
"So is the way of things." Legolas remarked as the two wandered back to where Melstoe and Belethil were dropping fuel that they had collected from the surrounding bush for the night's fire.  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran awoke cold and shivering in the night. The fire was still burning strong and she could feel the heat whisper onto her face. She must have moved in her sleep, as she was now a couple feet from where she had been. The blankets were twisted and laying just within arm's reach of her.  
  
Her face felt flushed and her heart beat irratically in her breast. Amoran had dreamt of something dreadful that night, she was sure, but she remembered nothing of it, though its ghost still seemed to be ever lingering just beyond her vision. The woman's breath was slightly ragged and she swallowed to slow it. She looked about herself, her head dashing from one side to the other, searching for some sign of life.  
  
Four dark figures laid around the fire, apparently asleep. The horses were shadows grazing on the spring grasses by the creek bed. Two companions she could not spy and this unnerved her so. After a few moments' hesitation, she slowly rose to her feet and walked towards the fire.  
  
She gasped as she looked upon the faces of the sleeping figures closest to her. Their eyes were open and her first impression was that they were slain in the night or suffered from some spell. But soon the surprise of the moment left her, and she remembered a childhood lesson: Elves sleep with their eyes open.  
  
How strange, Amoran thought as she looked upon Ithillian, that both peoples sleep in the manner that the other associates with death. She shivered, and parted her eyes from the sight. It merely was another enigma of life, better left alone.  
  
A shadow caught her eyes behind the fire. A few meters away, not far from where the horses lazily grazed, a figure stood watching. Little could she see of him, save the outline of his body against the greater darkness beyond. Her breath caught as she feared some evil thing wandering the night, but the figure moved, and she recognized that movement to be that of an Elf. And no Elf is bad, Amoran reminded herself as would a child.  
  
She thought for a moment, weighing her options. The dream still seemed to linger about her and the woman wished to distract her mind from its touches. Amoran could stay where she was and be faced with the blank eyes of the four companions immersed in the fire and blind to its light, or she could wander away from that same warmth and venture across the deceptively long distance to where the Elf stood. Either way, she felt no safer with one than the other, yet one held more promise, and such made her decision.  
  
Amoran wandered from the light and warmth of the fire and slowly made her way to the shadow that turned to watch her approach. She instinctively wrapped her arms about her self but felt no more secure for the act. Soon, she saw Legolas' face and sighed, letting free the breath she did not know was held.  
  
The relative relief of the moment faded as she saw the look that marred his handsome face. No, it was not his face but his eyes that betrayed him so, casting all else in the dark thoughts festering there.  
  
Amoran stopped her approach for a moment, lowering her brow in thought, but she drew closer as his look softened.  
  
"Such a face . . ." The woman trailed. He looked away from her and down to the creek, which ran like a cold vain through the green clearing. "I've seen its equal once before, but not on you. Will you not speak of it?"  
  
Legolas slid a glance upon her, before turning fully to face the woman. He looked into her eyes a long moment and the brightness in his bore into her. She could not look away but stood, waiting for him to break the contact, for surely he would and did.  
  
"Long would it take you to listen to all the wearies of an Elf. Perhaps, longer than you have to give." Legolas softly stated, walking towards the water and further away from the camp. He cast an eye towards the fire, seeing something there. The Elf nodded and she looked back to see his reason but saw nothing.  
  
"Yes," Amoran recovered her voice, "but I would not claim audience to all your wearies, just what plagues your thoughts this night."  
  
"Why?" Legolas asked, stopping a short distance from the slowly advancing waters.  
  
Amoran thought a moment. "Because to see such a look hurts me the same. I fear not knowing . . . what's behind it. I want to know that someone otherwise perfect can be hurt, too," Legolas looked to her sharply, "to know that you can heal. I want to know that you are not just a collection of melancholies. I want to know you can forget, and forgive."  
  
There was a long pause as Amoran looked to the waters, wondering what she had just said. Legolas watched her, as well, waiting for words he knew would come.  
  
"Perhaps, I can be distracted from my own . . ." The words died off as soon as they were whispered into life.  
  
Again, there was a silence.  
  
"Duty." Legolas spoke and she turned to him. "It is duty that plagues me, my own and that of others."  
  
"To whom?"  
  
"To anyone affected by me."  
  
"That is a weighty burden, why must you add that of others onto it?" Amoran asked and Legolas thought a moment.  
  
"Because they are close to me, and our burdens are shared, or passed on as that may be."  
  
"Your brother?" The woman questioned and was rewarded with a slight incline of the head. "Where is he?"  
  
"He sailed West long before your time." Legolas answered.  
  
"Do you miss him?" She asked, bending and sitting upon the ground, looking up to the Elf as he spoke.  
  
"Yes," He responded, "But I would not have him here, as I would not have her. It would be only for my comfort, and they deserve their own."  
  
"Her?"  
  
"My mother."  
  
"What of your mother?" Amoran questioned, slightly confused.  
  
"They have always been so alike, you see. For a short time, she shared her burden with him, and he with her. But it was not enough. That is why he sailed West."  
  
"Yes, your brother is alike your mother. And you've told me you are alike your father. Does your father share his burden with you?"  
  
"My father shares his burden with no one."  
  
Amoran looked about herself a moment and a thought occurred to her.  
  
"Then who, Legolas, shares your burden?"  
  
There was a long silence that spoke loudly to both. She felt as if she had uncovered something that defined the Elf, which had lain hidden. He looked to her a moment and his expression was confusion. She stood to better gaze upon the other.  
  
"I have thought on this many long nights. It was becoming an endless cycle, a road with the same bends, ever-leading back to its beginning. What I thought to be many is truly one." He turned to Amoran hesitantly. "There is no one."  
  
"And I know that to be a sad thing." The woman spoke softly before looking up to him with consideration. Legolas looked back at her, almost content in doing so. His eyes wandered about in nothingness, following trails of his thoughts, but his face never turning from her own.  
  
"Truly," Amoran spoke, moving closer and raising a shaky hand to his cheek. Legolas allowed it, curious at the gesture. She raised herself up upon her toes and gently placed her lips against his own. Too late did he understand her intention.  
  
He withdrew slightly from her lips' embrace and whispered against them, "No."  
  
Her blood turned icy as it ran through her veins comparable to the chill of the river nigh. She opened her mouth to speak but quickly closed it, finding there was nothing to say. Amoran pulled away from him, frightened that she would trip over her own feet in the process. The woman swallowed as she tried to stop the loud beating of her heart and recover her breath.  
  
"Forgive me." She whispered, quickly turning away.  
  
Legolas watched as she hastily returned to the fire, lying down as if to sleep. His eyes wandered to where he knew Verhute to be standing watch. The Elf's eyes met with that of the other's. The elder's looked shortly to Amoran before returning to Legolas. Verhute had seen, and somehow Legolas felt as if something that should have been private had been violated. He frowned, and the other found interest again in the stars and the moon, nearly full now, that shone upon them.  
  
* * * 


	17. A Little Bit of Truth

* * *  
  
Chapter Seventeen: A Little Bit of Truth  
  
* * *  
  
Though it seemed to take forever in its coming, the sun broke over the crest of the horizon early the next morn. Neither Elf nor woman were left blissfully unconscious to its rising; all had rose well before its timing and were busy readying themselves for the day.  
  
Ithillian had taken over the duty of preparing their breakfast that morning. Light was crawling amongst the grasses and branches when the smell of meat announced the meal was almost ready.  
  
*The Mortal is awake early this morn.* Belethil spoke to his two companions gathered around the fire. Ithillian looked across the clearing to where the woman was rolling her blankets together and then back to the meats before him.  
  
*Yes, she is.* He replied, moving the handle of the skillet a little to the right, more for something to do than anything else.  
  
Verhute ignored their conversation. The others took no offence as this merely meant that their elder had nothing he wished to say; it was neither a disapproval nor encouragement to their words.  
  
*Her face is flushed and her breathing tight. Do you believe she is ill?* Belethil asked, taking an arrow out from his quiver, which lay beside him.  
  
*Perhaps. I know little of such things.*  
  
*Once,* Belethil examined the edge of the arrowhead as he spoke, *I came across a young fawn. It was crying into the forest for its mother but she never came. The poor animal was caught in one of the traps Orcs spread about in the forest bed. The metal was eating into the flesh just above the little thing's hoof.*  
  
Ithillian's full attention shifted to his companion as his heart ached at the tale.  
  
*Beredil was with me at the time. We both decided to try to release the animal, though we knew not where its mother was, though we could fairly guess. The sound . . .its cry bit through the air and tore into us as we pulled the trap from about it. It had dug deep into young bone. It must have been so painful for the fawn. I could not stand the sound and it came to me having to still the deer as Beredil released it.*  
  
*Cursed Orcs.* Ithillian hissed.  
  
*Yes. I said the same as I watched the animal stumble about with little cries. I wanted to take her back to the Halls, clean the wound. But Beredil said it was too grievous and without its mother there was no other choice . . . What brought about the thought,* Belethil explained, *Was that her breathing reminded me of the fawn's, before it died. She may be ill. Mayhap, we should speak to Legolas. He is more familiar with the girl.*  
  
*Mayhap,* Ithillian agreed, *He is about with Melstoe at the moment. He has seen as much, or more than we, and he has said naught. This may be more normal for her than we would think.*  
  
*That is a disconcerting thought.*  
  
*Yes.* Ithillian spoke softly almost to himself, *Strange . . .*  
  
*What is strange?* The other asked after a significant pause.  
  
*Legolas usually takes the girl's well being and care upon himself. Yet, he has not spoken a word to her this morning. One would think he was avoiding her.*  
  
*Ithillian,* Verhute's voice broke through their exchange, *Mind the meat, lest it char.*  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas and Melstoe returned just as breakfast, a little more on the well- done side, was served. The meal passed quietly, mostly soft words in Sindarin marking conversation. At times, some would share short exchanges with Amoran, but it was made apparent that she did not wish to talk, or eat for that matter.  
  
She chewed a bit on a slice of meat, in a last attempt to stomach it, but with a sigh, decided to pocket the bit for later. It was cooked enough she doubted it would spoil through the course of the day, and she had experience to know she'd be hungry.  
  
The horses were all readied for their continuing journey. Taszuluen grazed off by the creek alongside Legolas' horse and Verhute's. Amoran noticed that the animal seemed to favor their company most.  
  
Her eyes were unnaturally dry and it hurt for her to close them. Breathing was a test in strength as it threatened during the night to sound as a whimper. She only wanted to be alone.  
  
Almost on their own accord, her legs shepherded her off toward where the creek bended into the trees. The sound of the water running over and against the rocks filled her ears and the smell of the meat still wafted in the air.  
  
"Amoran." She heard her name called out, and she turned slowly at the familiar sound of it.  
  
"Where are you going?" Legolas asked. He sat between Melstoe and Beredil, an arm supported upon a folded knee. He appeared unbothered by the night's occurrences, content to act as if nothing happened. Part of her was thankful for the mercy, while others ached at the feeling of estrangement.  
  
"To the creek bed to wash." She pointed a short ways ahead of her, into the trees. Legolas nodded his understanding.  
  
"Take Beredil with you."  
  
"I'd prefer privacy." She snapped back, more harsh than she had meant. Amoran turned her head, feigning interest in some unheard sound, so that none could see the blush sweeping over her features.  
  
"Yes, but you are taking Beredil."  
  
Amoran bit her lip to fight a frown and slightly inclined her head. The woman walked into the surrounding trees, sparing no look to see if the Elf followed her. She knew he did.  
  
* * *  
  
The water was cold. Good, she had hoped it would be. It ran fast and shallow there and she could barely make out her reflection in the waters.  
  
She looked different. The thought was the first to come to her as she looked upon herself. The woman had gained weight from her stay in Mirkwood. Her hair was darker and her skin lighter, both telling that she was, for a short time, a stranger to the sun. She leaned down, closer to the water, to get a glimpse of her eyes. But no matter how hard she tried, the waters were too unstill for her to see clearly. Something about the image bothered her, yet felt familiar.  
  
"It shall rain." Beredil leaned against a tree a short distance behind her. His arms were crossed over his chest as he gazed up into the high boughs that created a canopy above them.  
  
Amoran sighed in a sort of whimper. "It's going to get muddy and dirty and wet and cold and dreadful."  
  
Beredil's eyes fell from their brighter view and settled on the crouching form of the woman. Amoran could feel his gaze upon her.  
  
"I fairly enjoy the Spring Rains." Beredil whispered to himself.  
  
The woman allowed herself a hallow laugh at his hurt tone. "Forgive me; I didn't mean to insult. I'm just . . . a little grumpy this morn."  
  
"I would have never noticed."  
  
Amoran turned to send him an annoyed look. He gazed back innocently.  
  
"How do you fair at logic?" Amoran asked, sitting back on her heels, steadying herself with a hand at her side.  
  
"I would hope that I am capable." Beredil responded.  
  
"If something is the same, should it not wear the same face?"  
  
"Yes. To remain the same, it must be the same in all qualities, including appearance. That is, unless it wears a mask. But then, it is not the same, now is it?"  
  
"No, it's not." The woman murmured. She sighed. "Want to know something about me, Beredil?"  
  
The Elf nodded once.  
  
"Unfortunately, I'm one of those people that sees what's good for them, and run the other way."  
  
The Elf's brow furrowed at the confession.  
  
"Perhaps, with such knowledge, you can now change that."  
  
Amoran sat back and leaned her head on her knee. She looked to the ground, before sliding her gaze to the Elf, with the slightest curve of the lips.  
  
"That would be good for me, wouldn't it?"  
  
Beredil thought he understood, and hoped that Amoran could find what she needed in his silence.  
  
The woman sighed. She just wanted to be alone. Her eyes fell back to the waters and she finally recognized the blurred image staring blindly back.  
  
It was her sister.  
  
* * *  
  
The day passed slowly as they traveled over uneven terrain. Amoran rode at her usual post, beside Legolas; both remained silent and the rest followed suit.  
  
Blue sky peeked through gaps between the forest canopy and gray clouds marred the heavens above. Amoran wondered if she should pull up the hood of her cloak, but the others had not and she felt foolish to do so alone.  
  
Soon the road began to look familiar to the woman and her heart jumped within her chest at the sight. The path was one she had traveled and she knew where it led. Along its curves, in the shadows and relative protection of the Elven realm were several small villages, one right after another, ranging from a grouping of houses to functioning communities.  
  
The one ahead was more the latter. A drop of rain fell upon her nose and she swiftly wiped it away. Amoran decided to raise her hood as she saw the others do the same. Sporadic sprinklings soon turned to an outright downpour.  
  
Amoran turned to obtain a glimpse of Beredil. True to his word, he seemed to be enjoying the cool rain; unlike the others he had not raised his hood and was content to be caught in the weather.  
  
Taszuluen's mane soon became soaked and clung to the animal's neck. The reins began to chafe against Amoran's palms, creating angry red marks. Small puddles collected in the uneven road, which was swiftly becoming wider. The puddles soon grew as well. The heavens opened and it looked as if they were not near emptied.  
  
The sun set early that day, retreating to its safe position as observer. Amoran cursed it under her breath. Without its warmth, the air grew cold and she soon was unable to feel her toes.  
  
Luckily, the horses' steady footing went unperturbed by the slippery and muddy path. But even they would not be able to proceed if the path became flooded, as it threatened to be.  
  
Their journey appeared to have no desire to be an easy one. At this rate, Amoran felt they'd be lucky to arrive at Lord Brilthor's manor within the month.  
  
Legolas sighed softly to her left, as if to accentuate her thoughts.  
  
"There's an inn in a village a short way up and off the path." Amoran voiced. She hoped they would stop. It was quickly becoming very cold and there was no chance of a fire or dry camp.  
  
"I know this." Legolas spoke mostly to himself. He turned to her, and she was surprised that she was able to hold his gaze. "I have not been there for quite some time. They were small and did not welcome visitors."  
  
"I passed through here not long ago. They now welcome strangers, and their coin. It's a favored stop for travelers who are passing around Mirkwood." She was pleased to find that she possessed some knowledge he did not. "I don't see any problems there."  
  
Legolas was silent a moment as he thought.  
  
"Very well." He resigned. "I suppose this village has grown, as well?" Amoran nodded. "How far is it?"  
  
"No more than three leagues. We will have to travel through the dark."  
  
Legolas nodded.  
  
"It will be pleasant to sleep in a dry bed this night." Amoran heard whispered from behind. She recognized the voice now to be Belethil's.  
  
"I'm sure many others are thinking similarly. Hopefully, the tavern will not be too crowded." She cast a look about her companions and then herself. "Of course, a crowd could be a good thing."  
  
* * *  
  
Laughter and harsh voices filled the air, rivaling the clatter and thunder of outdoors. The tavern was pleasantly full as the group of hooded travelers entered. None took notice as they wound their way through the crowded room to a corner table near the roaring hearth. The perfume of meat was strong there, as a plump pig roasted on a spit.  
  
Amoran slowly lifted her hood to get a better look at their surroundings. The rafters were high over her head and many lanterns hung from them above tables to aid the fire in its lighting of the room, though this did not save the room from shadowy corners and figures.  
  
A drunk lounged in a corner by himself, and looked harmless enough. Most of the others seemed to be lingering between pleasantly inebriated and outright unconscious. Men generally comprised the room, though a few women were scattered here and there. A barmaid passed them by without thought.  
  
"I'll get us some rooms." Amoran rose from the table. The fire hissed as fat slid off the pigskin and into its depths. "Perhaps, some food, too." Legolas nodded, as did a few of the others.  
  
Amoran reached a hand to him and he looked at it strangely for a moment.  
  
She sighed. "They aren't the most giving of people. They shall want coin."  
  
The Elf reached inside his cloak and pulled out a leather pouch. He weighed it for a moment in his hand before firmly placing it in Amoran's. She smiled shortly and hid the purse in the folds of her cloak.  
  
She walked away for a moment before a thought came upon her.  
  
"They won't have much besides ale." Amoran warned.  
  
"Buy yourself some if you must but spare us. We have all that we need." Legolas motioned to a water skin that he had tied to his belt.  
  
"All right. Mayhap, I'll buy a round for the house." She laughed at the look she knew the Elf to be giving her. "Sparing you, of course."  
  
Weaving, through the maze of ever shifting bodies, she swiftly made her way to the bar. The barkeep was a rotund man with a short beard and graying hair. He graced her with a crooked smile as he continued a conversation with two men across the bar. She waited patiently for a moment, but he seemed unhurried to assist her. Amoran had spent quite some time in taverns and was comfortable with the atmosphere and its silent ways.  
  
With an air of boredom, she pulled Legolas' coin purse out of her cloak.  
  
"May I help you, dear woman?" The man asked as he pulled a stained cloth off his shoulder, wiping his hands in its folds.  
  
"Yes," She smiled, "You can."  
  
Amoran leaned against the bar casually and played with the pull-strings on the leather pouch.  
  
"My companions and I," The woman gestured a hand to the hooded figures in the corner, "would like some nice rooms."  
  
"Ah, of course, dear girl, but we are very busy this eve." The man spoke as if this greatly perturbed him.  
  
"But you have rooms." Amoran stated more as fact than anything else.  
  
"Yes, we do." He answered with a sly grin. "But, my dear child, I must deal with supply and demand."  
  
The woman chuckled lightly to herself. She knew of this game. Amoran had played it before, from his position as well, no less. "I admit, I don't fully understand what you are saying. Could you be more plain for this simple girl?"  
  
"I can give you one room. But since it is my only one left, it will cost more." The man spoke slowly, watching Amoran's face.  
  
The woman leaned over the counter in a conspiring manner. "Come now," She coaxed, "You have more than one room."  
  
"I do not!" He objected, playing indignation at her words, and very well at that.  
  
"Ah," Amoran allowed, "But you see, my good man, I travel in their company from deep within the woods. We come from the Elven halls."  
  
"Nonsense." The man took a step back, with an admonishing look on his face. "Little girls should not tell such tales."  
  
"I fib not!" Amoran played innocent, for she was. She thought that fact would make the act easier, but it was difficult for anything to be innocent when amongst these people. "I travel not with Men but with Elves." The man looked unconvinced. "You would not force myself, a young woman, to share a room with Elves, would you, my lord?"  
  
"And how did a good woman such as yourself come to be traveling in their company. Yet, more so over, how did you come safely to the Elven Halls?"  
  
"It is quite a tale, my lord." He gave her a look that showed he wanted to hear it. "You see I began traveling in the company of my brothers, rest their souls. We were running from our village that had been pillaged and burned by orcs! I lost my poor widowed mother and little sister to the beasts. My brothers had been away, traveling as merchants. Luckily, they returned in time to save myself from the ravaging carnage. Each fell several orcs. My father would have been so proud of them, rest his soul. He had a murderous hate for Orcs, he did, since they murdered my uncle and kidnapped my aunt, may they rest in peace."  
  
The barkeep grunted.  
  
"Well, we traveled many a night, but we were chased and hounded by these horrible excuses for life, until we despaired and saw no other hope but to enter the Dark Forest." Amoran cleared her throat, giving herself time to think. "But we found no peace there, my lord. The orcs hunted us night and day, day and night. One by one my brothers fell. Until I was only left with my eldest brothers, warrior twins they were."  
  
"I thought you said they were merchants." The man interrupted.  
  
"They were. But warriors they had been, but they had despaired of that life and decided on one more fulfilling, that of the family, my lord. With my father and uncle gone, we had much need of them in the house. But I digress."  
  
She wrapped the purse's drawstrings around her fingers.  
  
"I remember little of that night. I only remember my own screams and the metallic taste of blood. I awoke from my mind and found the dead bodies of my brothers at my feet and the orc carcasses carpeting the forest bed. I cried and cried, for what was a woman to do?" Amoran was startled to feel a tear fall down her cheek, and she hoped her surprise was not evident. "But out of the trees came my saviors! A group of Elves! I had seen little of the people since I was a child, you see, and could barely believe my eyes. They brought me back to their halls and there I met with the Elven King!"  
  
The barkeep made a sound of disbelief.  
  
"I swear I did!" She placed a hand over her heart and couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Little girls' minds are ever filled with fancy." He sounded amused and she was glad her words had worked.  
  
"Yes, we are, my lord, but even the greatest of fancies," She pulled open the pouch and the man's eyes widened at the sight of gold, "hold some truth. Are you willing to wager where the truth lies in my fancies?"  
  
As if on cue, Legolas looked to her across the room, his inhumanly handsome face clearly visible for a moment, and she slid a pleased look to the barkeep, watching as realization glittered in his eyes. He murmured something to himself about the fair kin and then turned to Amoran with another crooked smile.  
  
"Two rooms." He cleared his throat. "I can give you two rooms."  
  
Amoran sighed dramatically. "I suppose that shall do."  
  
* * * 


	18. Truth Be Told

* * *  
  
Chapter Eighteen: Truth Be Told  
  
* * *  
  
The Elves sat around a long table towards the back of the room, Legolas at its head, nearest the fire, looking out upon the space. They appeared as cloaked figures, opposing shadows beside the hearth. Fiery light fell upon their forest-green cloaks, and several wary eyes in the room followed.  
  
Amoran had left minutes before to acquire them bed and meal. Legolas felt uneasy with her presence gone. Though he was still in his father's land, his land, he felt out of place, and the sensation unnerved him.  
  
He looked out upon the room from under the rim of his hood. Burly, bearded men laughed over pints and meats. Legolas could focus and make out their words amongst the clatter and hubbub with his Elven hearing. Finding nothing of interest, save mundane and sometimes ribald comments, he let their chatter mix and melt together into harsh background noise.  
  
The air was thick with the scent of Men and meats. Clatters of plates and mugs against tables and the shuffle of booted feet upon the abused wooden flooring grated in their ears. Legolas began to feel surrounded by the noise and smells, sights and the very taste of the air. He looked to his companions and saw that they felt the same, from their various stiff postures and nervous mannerisms.  
  
Why was Amoran taking so long?  
  
Legolas' bright eyes searched the room, falling on figures as they slid by and around those that chose to impede his view. Finally they fell upon her and a plumpish man at the bar. Amoran's eyes caught his own and she seemed pleased, before they turned to the older man before her.  
  
A tall man, piled underneath several layers of cloaks, stepped within his view and he lost sight of the woman. With an annoyed sigh, he moved in his chair surreptitiously to see around him.  
  
When he caught sight of her again, she was placing gold coins into the barkeep's hand. The man seemed slightly flustered, and kept sliding his eyes upon him and his companions, but accepted the coin with a crooked smile.  
  
Amoran smiled back as the man motioned to another a short distance away. Legolas did not follow the movement as his eyes followed Amoran instead.  
  
She pulled the strings on his coin purse taut, but as she did so, there was a glint of light blinking off gold from between her fingers. Legolas could not help the small smile, less filled with mirth than is usually associated with the gesture, as he saw her fiddle with the neck of her gown. Amoran ran a now empty hand swiftly through her hair as she tightened the purse again for good measure and placed it in the folds of her cloak.  
  
The woman wore no jewelry, Legolas noted to himself. If she had it would glitter in the firelight, quite pleasing to the eye, he was sure. But that did not mean she wore no gold, for such things did not glitter in the depths of a full bodice.  
  
His eyes fell away as his mind was assured that she would soon return. Legolas knew that he felt more accepted with her in their presence, as if she were a token, buying their admittance. Without her close at hand, he felt unprepared, and he did not like that feeling.  
  
*This village has grown considerably since Nichae and I last passed through here.* Ithillian voiced, a chair over from his left.  
  
*How long ago was that?* Belethil asked, across from the Elf.  
  
*Less than a yen. You were not part of our party, then.* He responded off hand, his eyes following a scratching in the table's surface, something written in Common. Ithillian was not sure but he suspected its meaning was lewd.  
  
*I was.* Beredil murmured, earning a shadowy glare from his brother.  
  
*Men swiftly spread, their numbers increasing ten fold. You look away from a Man for a moment and when you turn back, you have a village.* Melstoe thought aloud to himself, little more than a whisper.  
  
*Like rats.* Beredil remarked; the whole of the table looked to him and he had the grace to blush from under his hood. *An unseemly and unjust comparison, I am sure.*  
  
*Though I see your reference point.* Ithillian allowed.  
  
*I have no fondness for rats.* Legolas muttered, *They tend to bite.*  
  
The Elves looked back at the room as they heard the familiar shuffle and gait of Amoran's steps. She walked carefully with a large mug within her hands, avoiding bumping into a passing man, who cared little of chivalry, and spilling its contents.  
  
She smiled half-heartedly as she approached the table. As Amoran moved aside, Legolas saw a young woman followed behind her, arms laden with plates, some precarious in their placement.  
  
Amoran quickly placed her mug down where she was to sit, betwixt Legolas and Ithillian. The girl, as she seemed little more than such, seemed to be thinking out a way of depositing the plates on the table without dropping them. Verhute, who sat last on the table across from Melstoe, rose and took the most unsteady of the wooden plates from her arms. She smiled to him sheepishly with some murmuring of thanks. Amoran was soon at her side helping settle the plates, as well.  
  
The young woman placed the remaining items on the table, bending to an excessive point, as Verhute sat back down. Legolas smirked as he realized she was trying to see under the Elf's hood. Verhute did not make it easier for her as he turned away to hand a plate of cheeses to Belethil.  
  
With her load deposited, the girl reluctantly wandered off, but not before stumbling into a passerby in the process.  
  
"Do you believe this will be enough?" Amoran asked, watching as the plates were passed by Legolas before the others took their share.  
  
"It will do well." Legolas answered, handing her a breadbasket.  
  
"I was always surprised by how much Elves could eat." The woman shrugged off her cloak, pulling out his coin purse in the process.  
  
"We eat enough." He accepted the pouch as she handed it to him. It was not considerably lighter. Amoran chuckled.  
  
"That's why we always liked when Elves would come by the tavern. You were generous with coin and hungry. Two things that mixed well." Amoran mumbled, taking a bite of bread.  
  
"Did you work in a tavern?" Legolas asked, passing the cheeses to Beredil. They did not appear exactly appetizing to him. Amoran nodded.  
  
"When?"  
  
She swallowed before answering. "I grew up in a tavern."  
  
"Your father was a barkeep?" He asked while handing her a plate of meats. She looked over the array of slices while continuing.  
  
"My stepfather was. My father was a blacksmith. My father and Pa, my stepfather, were close friends. They used to hunt together." She finally chose a few pieces of meat and slid them onto her plate. Amoran picked up her mug and held it as if she was going to sip but stopped, looking ahead into nothing as in thought. "Though he wasn't the best huntsman. He fell upon his own sword . . .or so I was told."  
  
Amoran looked uneasily about the table and Legolas thought as if she just realized they were still wearing their cloaks. It was becoming rather warm and it was more difficult to eat with their hoods drawn, but it seemed appropriate.  
  
"The barkeep knows you're Elves." She said. "I told him myself. The others have probably guessed, as well. Either that or shady folk, but considering how obliging the barkeep is being to us, I'm sure they're guessing Elves, I would. They're going to gawk a bit, sure, but keeping your hoods up like that is making them uneasy. I can tell."  
  
Legolas thought a moment on this and feeling the press of wary eyes, he decided she was right. The others watched as he reached up and pulled back his hood.  
  
His fellow Elves looked to each other a moment before following suit. For a moment nothing happened and Legolas looked to Amoran, gauging her response. She hovered over her plate and was sliding a wary eye to the movement about them, as if waiting for something.  
  
The room began to grow silent; starting with tables nearest them and spreading outward until the room was quite, save a few coughs and shuffles. Legolas looked away from Amoran, who was now taking a drink from her pint with wide eyes, and met the gazes of those in the room.  
  
He looked several Men in the eye, resulting with them shying away under the brightness of his stare. There was a loud clearing of a throat. The barkeep struggled to continue a conversation with a man across from him.  
  
"Ida!" He called and the girl who had brought their plates found her thoughts and hurried over to him.  
  
The room slowly turned away, their eyes reluctantly pried from the sight before them. Legolas heard a sigh from next to him and looked to Amoran expectantly.  
  
"Not that bad. Gawked a bit." She shrugged. "Can't really blame them."  
  
The woman reached across the table, and Ithillian's plate, to fetch another piece of bread.  
  
"At least you're not maidens." Amoran voiced. The Elves looked to her with brows furrowed, not sure how to take the comment, "They'd still be admiring."  
  
* * *  
  
" . . .only two rooms." Amoran spoke as she pushed away her plate. The other Elves were finished as well, though they would pick at the remains in a disinterested manner.  
  
Legolas nodded his understanding. Two rooms meant two beds; it would be uncomfortable for sure, but it would be far more uncomfortable out in the rain with puddles for beds.  
  
"I can sleep on the floor, if you wish." The woman spoke, playing with the mug between her hands. She always did that with her wine goblets, as well, Legolas remembered.  
  
"Nonsense." Legolas objected and the others gave their agreement. "Ithillian, Melstoe, Beredil and Belethil shall share one room. Verhute and myself shall sleep upon the floor in the second. How does that fare with you, Amoran?"  
  
"Very courteous, thank you." She pulled her cloak back upon herself.  
  
"Then we should retire. We leave at sun's first light."  
  
The group rose from the table, grabbing their share of the baggage, and began to walk towards the stairwell, with Amoran in the lead.  
  
*Verhute, you shall share a room with Amoran and myself.* Legolas informed those that had not understood his previous instructions, *Melstoe, you shall be with the others.*  
  
As Amoran took a step upon the staircase and Legolas prepared to descend behind her, the barkeep appeared with Ida at his side.  
  
"Greetings, my Lords." The man addressed.  
  
"Good eve." Legolas returned with a slight incline of the head.  
  
"My name is Eamon and I am the owner of this tavern."  
  
"I am called Legolas." The Elf responded, unsure of what was expected of him. The girl to the man's side seemed very nervous, ever pushing a strand of hair behind her curved ear. Strange, he thought, she seemed so young, but she couldn't be that much younger than Amoran, and he perceived her as a woman.  
  
Eamon cleared his throat.  
  
"I am sorry, Lord Legolas, that I have only two rooms when you travel with so many and with a maiden in your company, no less. But, perhaps, I could find better accommodations for your lady." The man put an arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling her forward. "This is my daughter, Ida. She is willing to share her room with the lass."  
  
"Of course." Ida nodded from his side, with a shy smile.  
  
"That is very generous of you, Eamon." Amoran spoke, stepping down from the stairs and standing beside Legolas. "I would greatly appreciate that."  
  
Legolas smiled, "Thank you."  
  
"Then it is settled." Eamon announced with his crooked grin. He gave his daughter a last squeeze before releasing his grip upon her. "Ida, take . . . I'm sorry, dear child, I don't know your name."  
  
"You can call me Ciara." Amoran answered and Legolas looked to her a moment. She turned and gave him a smile that told him not to say otherwise, before turning back to Eamon  
  
"Dear child, please show Ciara where she shall be spending the night." The barkeep encouraged.  
  
Ida grabbed Amoran's hand with enthusiasm and pulled her away from Legolas. "Yes, father."  
  
"Good night, My Lords," The girl attempted a curtsy rather well, before pulling Amoran away again.  
  
"Good night." Several of the Elves called back out of propriety.  
  
Amoran allowed herself to be shepherded away without further words.  
  
"My daughter, dear Ida, is full of spirit." Eamon returned his attention to Legolas and his companions. "She is a darling child, very loving and giving." The man sent the Elf prince a glance, eyes shinning with some meaning, as he continued. "'Tis difficult not to think of her as a child, but she is a woman; a very pretty woman, at that. Do you not agree, My Lord?"  
  
Legolas tried to look just interested enough. "Yes, she is. She will make a lovely bride for a suitable Man one day. I wish her and you only happiness. If you will I would also wish you a good night."  
  
"Oh, of course!" The barkeep began to walk away but took a step forward again. "Would you like me to show you to your rooms?"  
  
"Thank you. We would appreciate that."  
  
"Good, good. Follow me." The man said in a gruff voice as he cut in front of Legolas and began to descend the stairs.  
  
"My Ida has a beautiful singing voice, too, just like her mother."  
  
Legolas sent a look back to his companions before following the graying man up the stairs.  
  
"Like a delicate nightingale, she is. She dances, as well, though I would never let her do so in front of the men at my tavern. So sad that she must grow up in such a place; she deserves so much more . . ." The man continued as he led them to their rooms.  
  
* * *  
  
Rain whipped against the sole window in the room. Branches pierced the moonlight and cast shattered shadows upon the bed opposite the casement. The girl opened the door with a short creak and Amoran followed behind.  
  
A chill swept across the woman as she entered the room. The warmth from the bar was a hot breath on her back and the sudden departure from its embrace assaulted her with chills.  
  
The girl glided around the small area, a candle in one hand, pushing objects under the bed and righting others. The room was sparse, only a bed, nightstand, and a chair by the door.  
  
"It's a little cold." Ida turned back, the candle casting shadows upon her face. "But I'll be back in a moment with the blankets."  
  
The girl moved around the woman to get through the door. "You can place your bags on the chair," she said before disappearing.  
  
She had forgotten to leave the candle.  
  
Amoran stood a moment in the darkness, listening to the roar of the trees outside as they were shook and assaulted in the storm. The bed was small, large enough for perhaps the two girls to share if they lay on their sides and paid no heed to personal space. That did not disturb Amoran, for having the girl so close would help keep her warm in the night. No blankets were on the mattress, only one down pillow.  
  
The woman placed her bags upon the chair, as Ida had suggested, and sat upon the bed, rubbing her hands together for warmth. She wondered what the rooms the Elves were staying in were like.  
  
Were they so small, so cold?  
  
And would they notice the chill? She knew that Elves did not feel the slight change in temperature as Men did. One had told her so in the past.  
  
"Halla." She murmured as she thought back on the conversation, on the tavern, on her young self, and on the Elf.  
  
No, she concluded. If their rooms were so cold, they would not feel it. Elves were numb to such sensations, as if they could not be stirred. If they were resistance to the cold and chilly hand, were they unfeeling to the fiery and passionate touch, as well?  
  
Amoran had never asked Halla that, though she was now left wondering. But she had been a child, and such thoughts had not yet troubled her.  
  
She heard the girl's footsteps before her young figure appeared in the doorway. Blankets were folded under her arm and the candle was still in her hand.  
  
"The blankets are nice and warm." The girl told her as she placed the candle on the nightstand. "Feel."  
  
Amoran touched one of the blankets the girl held out.  
  
"Yes, they are."  
  
Ida smiled and placed the blankets on the bed. "Mother always puts them near the fire for me so that they shall be warm when I go to sleep."  
  
The girl reached behind her neck and began to untie her dress.  
  
Amoran moved to spread the blankets.  
  
"Oh, not yet!" The girl insisted. "Make sure you're ready for bed before you do that or they'll get cold too soon."  
  
"I am ready for bed."  
  
"You're going to sleep in your pretty gown?" Ida asked, still fussing with her garment. Amoran nodded.  
  
"But you'll be cold in the morning. If you keep your gown on, you'll have nothing more to put on when you rise. You'll regret it in the morn. My mother always warms my gowns, like the blankets, before I get up." The girl sighed, annoyed with her dress's closure. "If you leave out your dress with mine, I'm sure she shall do the same."  
  
"Good idea. Though I leave early." Amoran stood up from the bed.  
  
"Oh, no mind." Ida finally was able to slide out of her dress. "We all wake early, as well. Always before the sun."  
  
In relative silence, Amoran stripped to her shift. Both girls, encouraged by goose bumps and the chill night air, swiftly huddled under the blankets.  
  
The room was relatively silent, save the sounds of the storm outside, as the two lay huddled under several layers of warm covers. Amoran felt so tired, the previous day and night's trails weighing upon her. Her eyes began to close and her body felt heavy and tired. Ida sighed.  
  
"Ciara?" The girl asked and Amoran grumbled in answer. "May I ask you a question?"  
  
"Mm-hmm."  
  
"What are Elves like?" Ida asked, shifting uncomfortably next to her. "I mean, are they like what the stories say?"  
  
"What do the stories say?" Amoran asked, wearily closing her eyes.  
  
"They say they are beautiful, of course. And that's certainly true." The girl allowed a short giggle and the woman couldn't help but add her own.  
  
"Yes, it is."  
  
"It is said that they are wise and speak in riddles. They say that they can hide in shadows and move without sound, that they hold great power and great magic. If they happen upon a mortal, they can entrance them with their voice until they're bent to their will and can deny them nothing. If a maiden wanders under a full moon in the woods of a summer's night, she could be taken and claimed by an Elf, to awake the next day from a magic sleep and with child! These women live long blessed lives under the protection of the Fair kin, at the price of their honor -a price they willingly pay, enchanted as they are by the Elves. The maidens ever live with a melancholic air. It is said that they bear away a portion of the Elf's sadness in the child and in themselves. And that is why the Firstborn seek us out. Never growing old, never ill, they search to fill their hearts in pleasures. They take of the finest wines, eat the finest meats. They dance beneath the moon and sing to the stars." The girl spoke as if she had thought many nights on the subject, her voice filled with awe and circumspection. Amoran smiled on the edge of sleep.  
  
Ida waited a few moments before her patience ceased.  
  
"Ciara?"  
  
"Mm-hmm?"  
  
"Are they as the stories say?"  
  
"There are no children." Amoran mumbled.  
  
"What?"  
  
"No, and yes." The woman sighed. She was tired and would not find rest until the girl was satisfied. "You should not fear Elves but Orcs in the woods at night, child."  
  
"Though Elves can be fearsome, as well, they rarely act foolishly. I cannot see Legolas enchanting or disgracing some girl in the night. Such things are fancies of longing women or jealous men . . .Think of the most gracious host and wisest mentor you know. Are you thinking of them?"  
  
"Yes." The girl whispered.  
  
"Add to that a gentleness from a being capable of deadly strength, and then a sadness from a child that does not know why his brothers die. Can you imagine that?"  
  
Ida was silent.  
  
"No." She finally spoke.  
  
"That is a part of the feeling of being in an Elf's presence. Each is different but that feeling is ever there. Some are better at hiding it than others. Yes, they walk in the shadows without sound, and they enjoy their wine . . . and there are times where I distinctly feel they are trying to forget, but your tales do them an injustice."  
  
"You're lucky to be an Elf friend." The girl whispered back.  
  
"I'm no Elf friend." Amoran responded dejectedly. "I used to call one friend, but I ruined that with naïve choices."  
  
"Yet, you travel in their company, and I see how they act around you. I would give much for such things . . ."  
  
"No." Amoran interrupted.  
  
"But you don't understand. I live a boring life in this stuffy tavern. I feel trapped within its confines. I want to grow but there is no room. Elves have passed by here at times, and I catch a glimpse of a greater world. A world that is so much more magical than this ordinary, boring life I live. I wonder, if one day, I just left . . ."  
  
"Don't."  
  
"Men have offered to take me before, to take me from here." Ida continued. "I could experience peoples and places that I only imagined. I could grow and things will be different, you see. Worries will fall away and I will live as The Children were meant to. And I will finally breathe."  
  
"Quiet, child!"  
  
Ida was silent.  
  
"What you take to be boring and ordinary, is established and secure. What your naïve mind mistakes for confines is safety. Yes, there is a greater world out there, Ida. I've seen glimpses of it, but it is no more magical. It is filled with all the things your parents, in their love for you, have hidden from your concerns. There is hunger, greed, lust, and a fear that you have never known. Men are spoiled and made impure in that great world, Ida, like some plague, and they have no quandary with infecting you. Taste of that life, if you wish, but left with the bitterness, you will see that you had it better before, and there is no going back. And don't you dare blame anyone but yourself, child."  
  
Ida remained silent for several moments. She sniffled back tears and Amoran felt a pang of guilt. The girl's body shook slightly in her silent sobs. Amoran sighed and wrapped an arm around the girl, moving her mouth to whisper in her ear.  
  
"Forgive me, child. But it is better to shed frustrated tears now, then suffer greater then. You shall grow out of this, the feeling will pass . . ."  
  
"No." The girl whimpered.  
  
"Yes." Amoran corrected gently. "It will, I know. And when you are a wife with beautiful children and a secure husband you will look back on my words and be thankful for them, and you will pity me. Because, then, you will understand."  
  
Ida whimpered again and relaxed into the warmth of the woman's embrace.  
  
"I'm so tired." Amoran whispered, hoarse over stifled tears, "Sleep, child. It shall be better in the morning, when the sun rises again."  
  
* * * 


	19. Of Fire and Absolution

* * *  
  
Chapter Nineteen: Of Fire and Absolution  
  
* * *  
  
The woman's mind began to wake as she heard the door creak. Footsteps fell upon the floor approaching the bed. Amoran's eyes opened when a fear crept into her belly, warmly nestled against Ida's back. Her breath caught in her chest as she fought between moving and not. Who could be wandering into the girl's room at this time of night? Should she turn or act like she was asleep?  
  
She chose the latter and closed her eyes.  
  
Amoran could sense the figure behind her, could feel the eyes, and could only imagine who would be standing there, looking down upon the two women.  
  
Finally, the shadow behind her turned and left with a rustle of cloth and shuffle of feet, closing the door after.  
  
Amoran sighed and turned to look at the door. Golden light glowed beneath it, and sprawled over the surrounding floor. Her eyes slid and fell upon the only chair in the room.  
  
Their gowns were gone.  
  
It must have been Ida's mother, Amoran concluded, or hoped, coming to fetch the gowns to place by the fire.  
  
The woman sighed and tried to calm her heart, which was beating wildly within her chest. Soon she found again uneasy sleep.  
  
But it was not long before she heard that door creak again. Waking as if she had never slept, her eyes opened wide in the darkened room.  
  
The figure coughed several times and Amoran instinctively turned.  
  
A woman, thin in stature and pale of face in the light of her candle, stood beside the bed.  
  
"My Lady," The woman placed the candle on the girl's nightstand, "One of your companions is waiting for you."  
  
She began coughing again, placing a hand against her chest as if to stifle the pain. Amoran pushed away the, now cooled, covers and rose from the bed, ignoring the groan from the sleeping girl left behind.  
  
"Here's your gown. 'Tis of lovely make." The woman held out Amoran's riding clothes. She spoke softly and raspy. "I hope you do not mind, but I warmed it by the fire with the children's."  
  
"No, of course not. I owe you my thanks, dear woman."  
  
Eamon's wife nodded and left Amoran to dress.  
  
* * *  
  
Belethil stood in the tavern's kitchen, watching a young boy eat porridge at a heavy wooden table. The boy's face was flushed from sleep and pale as his mother's, an unhealthy color it seemed but the Elf did not think himself qualified to judge.  
  
The Eldar stood just beside the door that led into the main tavern and had not spoken since the woman had left to fetch Amoran. Belethil looked back to the boy and saw that the child's eyes watched him with an unabashed intensity that only a babe could muster.  
  
For several moments, the two watched each other, the boy slowly moving the wooden spoon to and from his mouth, taking little sips of the porridge. Belethil could hear the woman's returning, the steps of a single woman; Amoran would not be with her.  
  
The boy continued to stare as his spoon missed and poked himself on the nose. Leaving with a bit of his breakfast upon his snout, he replaced the spoon into the bowl. Caught between amusement and embarrassment, the little one looked to the Eldar and seemed to be leaning more towards the latter.  
  
Eamon's wife was near now; the Elf could hear her stop in a bout of coughs.  
  
Just as the door opened, Belethil took the moment to stick out his tongue at the boy.  
  
The woman walked in to her son in fits of giggles and an Elf standing innocently across the room, his arms folded across his chest and an air of amusement about him, but otherwise no different than she had left him.  
  
"She is but to dress before coming." She informed, with a queer look at her laughing son, who was sporting a bit of porridge upon the tip of his nose.  
  
Belethil inclined his head in understanding, with a small curving of the lips.  
  
With a shake of the head, the woman passed by her son and returned to a counter where she had been preparing the dough for that day's bread. She sent a glare to her son and he swiftly silenced and cleaned his face. Pleased, the wife returned to her morning work.  
  
The child returned to his observations of the Elf, with a wide grin, and Belethil chose to let him, humming a whispery tune to himself, to the enjoyment of the mortals present.  
  
Soon, he heard footsteps approaching. They were lighter than a man's but heavier than a child's. It could only be Amoran's, but she traveled not alone, for the steps fell off beat with another's.  
  
The wood moaned softly as the door was pushed open.  
  
A young woman walked in. Belethil recognized her from the previous day and believed her name to be Ida. She wore a very plain blue dress that reached only mid-calf. Her hair was disheveled with sleep.  
  
Ida walked without thought past her brother, placing a kiss upon the top of his head, to her mother, placing a kiss upon her cheek. She grasped an apron that hung upon the wall nigh and tied it around her waist, turning and finally looking about the room.  
  
"Good morn." Belethil greeted as she gasped.  
  
Her brother looked back at her and started to giggle.  
  
Amoran had entered the room and set down her share of the packs to slip on her cloak.  
  
"Good morning, Belethil." The woman greeted as she fastened a broach at her neck.  
  
"Good morn, Am . . ." He began.  
  
"Are we to leave already?" She swiftly interjected.  
  
"Yes, we are."  
  
The boy was still laughing at his sister and the chortles had grown in volume to annoy her further. Ida fidgeted and was promising threats through her eyes.  
  
"That's enough, Eoghan." The mother berated, her voice heavy with bridled coughs.  
  
Eoghan said nothing but returned to his meal, which had been sorely neglected.  
  
"Are the others waiting?" Amoran asked, standing now beside her bags, hands clasped before her.  
  
"Yes, they are."  
  
The woman thought a moment on this. "And why did Legolas not come to fetch me, and send you in his stead?"  
  
Belethil downcast his eyes for a moment as if thinking on the question. The others in the room moved slowly about their tasks, making little noise, and acted as if they were not listening.  
  
"He is counseling with Melstoe and Ithillian on our day's route. I am sure he meant no disregard of you, and if not for such responsibilities would come himself."  
  
"I care not." Amoran bent and retrieved her bags. "Good bye, Ida. I shall remember your kind actions . . .and words; I hope you remember mine."  
  
Ida curtsied slightly, a guarded look about her. "I will, my lady. I know I shall think of them often."  
  
Amoran nodded, murmured thanks to the barkeep's wife, before she let Belethil usher her away to the horses and the awaiting Elves.  
  
* * *  
  
True to Legolas' words, the company set off at the sun's first light. The day passed for the most part in silence, save the sound of the horses' hooves upon the muddy ground. They traveled over rocky terrain for a short while, a detour to assure better footing for their animals, before the path became muddy earth once again that rose into hills and fell into their dips.  
  
The monotony of the pace and the gentle incline and decline like the slow rocking of a boat, lulled the body though the Elven minds remained sharp on the trail. Legolas' thoughts were upon their remaining journey and how he would soon be in Brilthor's house once more. He looked forward to seeing his uncle again, as well as his cousin and his mother, Mirawen. The Elf had not seen them in many years and was eager to look upon their refreshing faces, for he had been surrounded by the same for so long. Even those of the Fair Kin desired change every so often.  
  
They would soon arrive there, he would remind himself, and there perhaps he'd find what he was looking for. That thought puzzled the Elf and he repeated it in his mind. What was he looking for?  
  
He did not know and this thought only served to frustrate him. Half of Legolas wished to think about and answer it while the other only wished to dismiss the silly question, for the Elf was satisfied with his life; in his position, he was rarely left wanting.  
  
Legolas was successful for a short time in completely brushing the question from his mind as he instead looked about himself and listened to the trees. The fringes of Mirkwood were lighter and spoke to him of a youth in Greenwood. How swiftly that was gone. Now the trees surrounding his home spoke of hurt and sadness, anger and frustration. The Elves did the best to soothe them but they were little consolation to the pain of their darkened friends.  
  
The Elf could not help the small despairing sigh at the thought.  
  
It was Legolas' experience that everything around the Elves only darkened with time and it was difficult not to become bitter to that occurrence. Mirkwood was the same, and somewhere in his life, the majority of Legolas came to expect and accept it, whilst the bit left in him otherwise would mourn its loss quietly.  
  
To the group's annoyance, this was about the time Taszuluen began to find the young green blades at her feet appetizing and took to grazing while she strode slowly onward. Legolas watched as Amoran pulled the reins firmly to reprimand the animal.  
  
Taszuluen minded the woman and continued onwards, but not without an annoyed snort.  
  
It was soon before the animal found the grass too appetizing and Amoran had to pull on the reins once more. The horse walked on a few minutes but swiftly offended again.  
  
*Taszuluen, this is not the time for grazing.* Legolas scolded gently.  
  
The animal swiftly returned her mind to the trail and the company traveled on for a short while thinking the habit had been quailed.  
  
Amoran looked outright irked when Taszuluen began to slow and chew on the bits at her feet once again. Those behind her, including the other horses, appeared on their way to being equally frustrated, though most hid it better than she. The woman was muttering choice words under her breath as she pulled on the reins, but seemed hesitant to apply any real force.  
  
Taszuluen ignored her, having decided that this was her rightful mealtime.  
  
Legolas slid off his -mind you, obedient- horse and, reaching down, tweaked Taszuluen's ear shortly, so the animal's full attention was focused on him. The Elf was silent, though the horse shuffled its front hooves in her uncomfortable state. For several moments, Legolas looked on at the horse in displeasure. The animal's front feet quickly silenced and its breathing calmed, until she stood quietly before him.  
  
Amoran watched the entire exchange, and the Elf was conscious of her eyes upon him, but his attention was at the moment on the animal.  
  
Legolas finally allowed a small smile to the horse and spoke to her soft words, before petting her nose.  
  
"What did you say?" Amoran asked, watching his hand as he ran it lightly over the animal's snout.  
  
"I told her that once we reached my uncle's manor, which is not far, she could have oats and young carrots. But we would have to arrive there first." Legolas answered, patting the side of the animal's neck, a short distance from Amoran's knee. The woman watched the gesture closely before sliding her eyes back to him. "I also said that Nichae would not be happy to hear about such poor behavior."  
  
Amoran nodded and her eyes fell from his face to the muddy ground in a disinterested manner. She had been acting reserved around him ever since two nights before. Legolas quickly mounted his steed and the group journeyed on again.  
  
It had been his hope that Amoran and himself would have been able to forget her actions that night and move forward. But she appeared to have not forgotten those actions, and to be lingering on the thoughts, making it difficult for the two to interact without the feeling of tension or treading softly.  
  
Normally, he would have chosen to ignore her juvenile behavior but he found that he could not, or should not, in this case and knew that soon he would have to speak to her about that occurrence. He grasped that it had the possibility of making the situation worse, but he felt that it had to be done. Or, mayhap, she merely misunderstood him, though only one word was uttered. Legolas disliked this feeling, as if he had done wrong, for he knew that he had not. With her feelings put at ease, with her understanding, might he gain absolution.  
  
* * *  
  
Less than thirteen leagues from the tavern where they spent the night, the company traveled through the outer rim of another small town. More buildings, closer knit together, characterized the settlement, yet the air was still and the few voices present were hushed.  
  
The horses slowed their gait as they walked past small homes, doors and, quite often, shutters closed. An older Man-child wandered down the path holding the hands of his siblings but stopped and stared with an exhausted lack of emotion at the strangers. The younger of his brothers began to cry and tears swiftly streamed down his dusty face.  
  
Legolas grew puzzled with this stillness and despair, and looked to Amoran to see if she felt the same. The woman was watching the children with a furrowed brow and questioning eyes. Still, the form and press of her mouth showed that she was driven to help the child, as if it were her own.  
  
Outside one of the buildings, door open and windows shuttered, a grayish man stood. He looked older than he should've for his years and held a dirty handkerchief at his slight mouth, pressed as if in thought. A younger, darker, man stood to his side, bearing a familiar resemblance to him. The man looked troubled and was pushing at nothing in the dirt with the toe of his worn boot. He mumbled something and the older man grumbled incoherently in reply.  
  
Two more men walked out of the open door, carrying a board between them, a table it would seem, upon it was draped a sheet covering the figure of a body. Blood stained the yellowed cloth. Another walked out with a draped figure in his arms, a small grayed hand and booted feet still showing, but no blood visible.  
  
They were all carried to an awaiting wagon as the group began to pass by. The Elves hung their heads in respect, many of their eyes curiously searching the faces of those around them, and others avoiding looking into the sad and frightened gazes. Amoran placed a hand over her heart, as she had been taught as a child to be common courtesy. The man situated the small figure down upon the dirtied wagon bed and nodded his head curtly; tears shinned in his eyes but would not fall. A child still screamed from behind and his brother did not even try to hush him.  
  
As the Man settlement did not last very long, they quickly passed through its outer rims and found themselves in its shadow at dusk. A strange air emanated from Amoran as she sat unusually still upon Taszuluen. They were no more than twelve leagues to Lord Brilthor's manor but the Elven prince decided it would not do to travel onward into the darker depths of Mirkwood without rest. He would see his uncle by the stars the subsequent day.  
  
And so they made camp upon a hill as the sky turned red and a pyre burned in the distance.  
  
* * *  
  
The night was born dark though a single firelight lived on in the distance. Legolas and his companions sat around their own fire and sang solemn songs and ate sparsely of their rations. Amoran sat away from the others, deep in her thoughts. She would hum along to their melodies without thought at times but otherwise spoke naught.  
  
After she had finished her food, Legolas became concerned as the woman began to softly rock and chew her lip in consideration. Her fingers batted against the ground to her side for some time before they suddenly stopped, along with her rocking, and she sat still looking at her companions through the fire.  
  
The Elves watched her as well, not halting in their song, but observing in a candid manner as they let her do what she would.  
  
She swiftly rose and proceeded away from the camp.  
  
The Mirkwood prince watched until she finally walked over the crest of the hill and descended to where not even his keen Elven eyes could see.  
  
With a nod at Verhute, he rose and followed.  
  
Amoran paced under the stars and velvety sky with her arms wrapped about her chest. Legolas could literally feel her unease like warmth from her body, and decided it best to sit upon the damp earth and let the woman pace herself weary.  
  
She turned and jumped almost imperceptibly at the sight of him.  
  
"Never get used to that. Never." The woman muttered, ever moving.  
  
She turned and looked back at the Elf.  
  
"By and by, go on your way; I shall not run into the woods in the night. I promise to stay." Amoran spoke in a hurried manner. "You needn't watch over me as one would a little child. I am not one. Do you see? Do you see that I am not a child?"  
  
"I know you are not a child, Amoran. You are a woman. But even the most wise of us require supervision, at times, or merely the company of another." Legolas spoke softly and with no haste.  
  
"Even Elves?"  
  
"Yes, even my kin."  
  
Amoran slowed her movements and looked away for a moment.  
  
"Do you come to supervise," she looked to him sidelong as a stray lock of hair fell across her eyes, "or to offer yourself as company?"  
  
"A little bit of both." Legolas answered truthfully.  
  
"I think you would not find company with me." Amoran's words began to slow in their delivery. "I am poor company. I say little of importance and when I do, rare is the listener."  
  
"You have listened to my wearies in a night past." Legolas began and Amoran stifled a cringe. He had not thought on these words but it was best that the subject be brought forth subtly. "I would hear yours in compensation . . .nay, that is a poor choice of word. There is a better word in my tongue, though that aids us little here.  
  
"You helped and lightened my wearies in your listening for I felt that you cared. It is not that I lack those who would like to care but I cannot speak with them, for they harbor expectations that are hard to put aside. You helped me, and it is only right -and my heart compels me to do so- that I help you."  
  
Amoran looked away silently for some time and Legolas waited patiently, his fingers playing idly with spring blades of grass.  
  
She finally turned and walked closer to him, choosing to sit just beyond arm's reach.  
  
"What do you want to hear?"  
  
"What do you want to tell?"  
  
The woman began to tap her hands at her sides, a sure sign she was becoming unsettled once again.  
  
"Did the sight of the bodies disturb you?" Legolas asked, in a hopefully helpful manner.  
  
"Nay," She looked not at him but at the earth to his side, "I have seen bodies before, more gruesome, as well."  
  
"Was it the child's cries?"  
  
"Children cry."  
  
Legolas waited for her to say more but nothing came. She merely sat with her lips gently parted as if she wished to say something but could not think what it was.  
  
"Then I cannot think of what has disturbed you so." The Elf stated. He was not afraid of silences, but he was afraid of the ends they could lead to, and so spoke onward. "Do you choose not to tell me? Or not know, yourself?"  
  
"I am unsure . . .whether I want to tell you anything." The woman spoke in an uncertain manner.  
  
"I am left wondering if I should take offense." Legolas' fingers stopped their play on the ground and folded in his lap.  
  
"Nay." Amoran shook her head. "It is not you. It is my failing, my faults, that I am afraid of and thus I silence myself in the fear."  
  
"I do not understand. Explain this to me."  
  
"I don't want to be judged. I don't need it. It doesn't help." She spoke swiftly so the words ran together. Legolas thought on them a moment.  
  
"I shall not judge." The Elf promised and the woman hollowly laughed in reply.  
  
"You cannot help it. People say they shall not judge but they always do . . .even, nay, especially, when they don't understand." Amoran paused and pressed her lips firmly together, as if to bit back words that fought to escape.  
  
"Then . . .what if I were to promise to listen fully and try to understand before I do so?" Legolas asked, leaning forward and placing his elbows upon his knees. She pressed her lips firmer together.  
  
"The brand," the woman turned and displayed the sensitive flesh of her wrist, " did you ever wonder who gave it to me?"  
  
"Nay, I have not," Legolas answered, looking down on the scared rune, "until this moment."  
  
"When I was a little girl, I was enchanted with the thoughts and stories of Elves. I'd weave them into every game I played - annoying my brothers greatly. They would at times come into our tavern, hooded and silent mostly, though some would speak to me shortly at times . . .and I'd be delighted." Amoran's eyes fixed on a nothing to the side. "I also had quite a temper as a girl. I wanted everything my way. I also hated my stepfather, not with the ire of an adult whose heart has hardened but the hate of a child, which is more towards dislike.  
  
"He'd often try to win my love with little presents that he'd bring from other villages or he'd favor me over my siblings. I do not understand why he cared so. My father's other children, save my sister, disliked him equally, or perhaps more. Yet, I was the one he would try to buy.  
  
"Mayhap, it was because I was a babe when he married my mother and thus he helped raise me. It was almost as if I were his first child . . .yes, that must be it.  
  
"In any matter, one day a lone Elf came into our tavern, seeking food and bed. This was all well and good, but he had no coin. Pa told him that he could not help him then. It was storming, I remember. Oh, I threw a mighty fit. Screaming, "I hate you! I hate you!"  
  
"Finally, my father came to an agreement with this Elf. He would have food and bed as long as he tutored me on Elven things. Oh, my stepfather could deny me nothing and this was another one of his gifts. And I was more than happy to take.  
  
"So this Elf - Halla, he had me call him. I don't exactly remember how we came up with that name but I thought it clever and he was willing to suffer it."  
  
Legolas smiled at her words.  
  
"Halla was very kind to me and I grew very attached to him. He would answer any and all of the questions I'd ask, no matter how silly. Like, one time, when I asked if Elves grew young, just very slowly, and that they were all swiftly turning into babes." The woman did not laugh at the thought but smiled ruefully. "I think he spent the better part of a day explaining that was untrue and how Elves truly age, or don't, you choose.  
  
"He stayed for a week, I'd say. It's hard to remember the exact amount of days. But I woke up one morning, and he was gone. They knew I'd throw one of my fits, he and my stepfather. But I had grown to like him so much and I know he doted upon me. I was his little project, me thinks. He'd often tell me a story and then ask these questions," the woman shook her head, "that I couldn't understand. But he was trying to make me think. His favorite lesson would be to teach me consideration for others. And, looking back now with different eyes, I'd say that he did teach me a lot, but the lesson was received later than he had thought."  
  
She was silent for a moment, before turning her eyes on Legolas.  
  
"I didn't recognize him some time later. I tried to steal from him. He caught and branded me. That is the tale." Amoran finished abruptly.  
  
Legolas sat silently, as Amoran's eyes searched his face.  
  
"It is unimportant, really. Nothing of worry, now." The woman mumbled.  
  
"Am I Halla?" Legolas asked, and her eyes narrowed.  
  
"No." She answered decisively.  
  
"Are you certain?" The Elf continued. Amoran began to fidget, in her seated position. "Do you not wish to win my favor, in the hopes that it somehow will change that outcome?"  
  
"No." She answered again. "You are not, Halla. I don't wish anything more from him. I have no use for his favor, and I have not deluded myself into thinking I could win it through you."  
  
"Your actions could speak otherwise." Legolas spoke as the thoughts came to him, only spending a short time censoring himself.  
  
"Do you speak of the other night?" Amoran froze in her fidgeting.  
  
"Aye."  
  
"I did not see Halla. Understand, I was a child then; I look upon him with a babe's eyes. I did not kiss Halla. I kissed you."  
  
"But why?" Legolas asked, finding that he wished to hear her answer. He had come up with his own but he wished to hear it from her mouth.  
  
"Because I wanted to. You stood there before me, and trusted me. You spoke to me as an equal and listened. You seemed to care. It felt appropriate, and for a moment, I forgot that I wasn't your equal."  
  
That was not what he had expected.  
  
"Amoran . . ."  
  
But she would not have it and rose.  
  
The woman began to walk away, but stopped and spoke before leaving.  
  
"I kissed you because you weren't like Halla. He saw me as a child and you, yourself, said I was a woman."  
  
* * * 


	20. The Perilous Path

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty: The Perilous Path  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran returned to the soft firelight and settled herself for the night. Several eyes had followed her return and the woman found herself wondering how keen was Elven hearing. She sighed and closed her eyes, hoping they would think her asleep.  
  
Yet, the peace had forsaken her and she listened as the others retired for the night with soft words in a language she did not understand, though she fancied hearing Legolas' name uttered at least once. Those voices were soon silenced, and the spitting of the fire spoke into the night.  
  
It was some time before Amoran turned onto her back and looked about the camp. Verhute was missing, as was Legolas. The rest of the Elves lay upon the ground, close to the fire. She could not tell whether they slept or merely stared up into the heavens.  
  
Her eyes fell upon Ithillian and Amoran watched as his head turned to look at her.  
  
She stared at him and he at her, and she knew that he had heard.  
  
The firelight played in the depths of his bright gray eyes and she did not feel judged, she did not feel disgust or pity. Amoran found a foreign fire staring back at her and how apparent it was that these were no Men, and truly she knew nothing of them, yet assumed much.  
  
He looked away from her then and she wondered if Legolas sat where she left him. Was he waiting for her?  
  
A silly question for sure, her mind called back, yet he did not return.  
  
She rose and walked as quietly as possible towards where she had left him. As the woman approached, she began to hear whispery voices. One was calm with a rhythm of delivery paced while the other was slow, as if hardly attentive to the first.  
  
Both ceased as Amoran neared.  
  
They had heard her, she thought, and stopped in her steps. Perhaps, she should just turn back then and try for sleep.  
  
But she would find none, Amoran knew this, and the woman had already interrupted their words. She pressed onward and soon stood on the hill, looking down upon two figures under the starlight.  
  
Verhute and Legolas turned and gazed back at her.  
  
He stood upon the very spot where she had left him, her mind idly thought.  
  
Verhute turned to Legolas, speaking short words before climbing effortlessly up the small incline towards her. She took a step back instinctively, but he smiled to her and her heart eased.  
  
"Good night." The Elf spoke as he passed.  
  
"Good night." She responded without thought.  
  
Her lips parted slightly as Amoran realized what was just said and who the Elf was that uttered it.  
  
"I said that he did not speak Westron. Though he does know some words and phrases still in common use." Legolas answered the question he saw upon her face, "You see, he used to speak the language, very long ago in your terms, and perhaps long in mine. But years passed and the words of the world and that language changed along with the tongues that spoke it. It is a combination of things with him, I think; his dialect is archaic now and it has been long since he spoke it, even our memories can fade with time."  
  
Amoran nodded her head in understanding. Legolas paused a moment, his eyes looking away before sliding back to her less-than-perfect figure.  
  
"Why did you return?"  
  
The woman looked back at him, opening her mouth. She shut it and furrowed her brow in thought. Amoran walked forward, focusing on her footing on the way.  
  
Once she stood closer to him, within arm's reach she spoke.  
  
"Why did you stay?"  
  
"Because it was not over for me." He answered simply and looked to the sky above them.  
  
Amoran watched his face, as it stared heavenward. His skin, pale under the starlight yet no less beautiful, almost glowed, she would say. The sight was enchanting, but always was. Though it was not the sight that caused her next words, but something else that not even she understood. Elves were said to be very perceptive but perception was not limited to their kind.  
  
"Are you lonely?"  
  
His face barely moved, his chin tucking slightly as if he were to speak but paused. The Elf's eyes were cast away from the stars into nothingness in their corners.  
  
"I think you are." She stated.  
  
"There are times, when those look at others and see themselves." Legolas pitched his eyes back to the stars.  
  
"Or, perhaps, are better able to truly see, as they suffer the same." Amoran answered. She paused before continuing. "Are you lonely?"  
  
Legolas was silent for a moment's time, and the woman began to believe that he would not speak again.  
  
"Why should I be?" He finally looked down to her, and his eyes pierced through Amoran.  
  
"I give you much and you give little in return."  
  
"Ah," The Elf allowed a small quirk of the lips, "now who is speaking of the other night?"  
  
"You are," Amoran rebuffed, satisfied with herself, "for I spoke naught of it."  
  
"What would you have me give, Amoran?" Legolas asked, displaying an empty hand before him in emphasis before letting it fall aside.  
  
"Another chance," She answered, "speak to me again."  
  
This appeared to pause the Elf, and he looked away from her, falling into his own thoughts. His jaw tightened and he seemed about to take a step away, before he stopped himself and looked back to the woman before him.  
  
"I think I may regret this, some day to come," were his words.  
  
* * *  
  
The next morning dawned clear and bright. Breakfast was taken early and quickly the party of Elves, accompanied by a single woman, was on their way. They traveled on some time southwest before turning directly away from the sun and heading into darker forest.  
  
Leagues passed and the woods became darker and darker, as the trees grew thicker and closer together. The Elves fell into their past traveling arrangement, Legolas leading with Amoran and Melstoe on either side with Verhute, the packhorse, and Ithillian as rearguard.  
  
Twilight soon turned into shadows that threatened to darken and suffocate the travelers. As the darkness began to become so pressing as to warrant lanterns again, the party stopped.  
  
Amoran dismounted a fidgety Taszuluen, staying close between her horse and that of the Elven prince, afraid to wander and become lost in the shadows. She was able to see no more than a darker shape before her than anything else and was startled to feel cool cloth sweep across her hand.  
  
"Legolas?" She asked, with a shaky voice, her hand stopping its caress of the frightened horse's neck.  
  
"Yes." He answered from beside her.  
  
The lanterns were lit and she could see that he petted the horse as well, it must've been his sleeve that had moved across her skin.  
  
"Taszuluen is starting to spook, I think." She told him, when really there was no need.  
  
"Yes, they can smell Orc." He looked back at the other horses; many of their riders were standing near and whispering comforting words to them as well.  
  
"Orcs?" The woman looked about them, searching for the creatures in the trees. "Where are they? How close?"  
  
Legolas glanced at her, as if weighing whether to tell her the truth or not.  
  
"Nigh, but do not be concerned, only aware. It is nothing we cannot handle, if need be."  
  
She wondered if that had been the truth.  
  
He placed his hand on hers, stopping its caress of the spooking horse, and squeezed it reassuringly before moving to speak with Melstoe and Verhute. Beredil came forward and began to speak to her and Taszuluen in the other's stead.  
  
*Have the packhorse moved to the center. I am tempted to lighten her load.* Legolas spoke and Ithillian began to move the animal to her new position.  
  
*If we leave anything behind, it will be indicative to our presence.* Melstoe warned. The Elf had previously thought on this and decided it was acceptable.  
  
*They already know this path, and know we follow it. They have picked up our scent like wargs. Lighten her load of the spare food rations and cookery. Perhaps, they shall be satisfied.*  
  
Verhute did not look convinced but said nothing.  
  
Melstoe turned and began to help Ithillian sift through their packs.  
  
*They will attack at our weakest point.* Verhute finally said, his eyes on the woman who spoke with Beredil. Legolas could see the Elf's hand lingering near his sword's hilt as he stroked the horse's mane.  
  
*Then we should place her between Melstoe and myself.*  
  
*I would not have you traveling near the fringes of the path either.* Verhute did not appear pleased.  
  
*The safest position is that of the middle, where the packhorse now resides . . .* Legolas looked as if he were thinking of moving the animal.  
  
*Yes, it is well protected, but as it cuts out ways of entrance to the occupant, it cuts off ways of escape. The woman is completely defenseless if we are attacked.* He looked at Amoran from across the distance. *I doubt she has ever met an orc.*  
  
*What would you suggest?* Legolas asked, looking to the woman before sliding his eyes back to the Eldar.  
  
*If they choose to attack, which I believe they will as they have been following us, then her best option may be to run.* Verhute paused in thought. *I believe her horse would need little coercion. Light an extra lantern, and give it to the girl, Taszuluen may need it to see the path.*  
  
*The packhorse is even more defenseless than Amoran. She would need to run, as well.* Legolas folded his arms over his chest and looked to the animal that was being comforted by Belethil as the other two Elves readjusted her packs.  
  
*Yes, but there are only two positions of security; would you not agree that the woman deserves the one that shall offer her the best advantage?*  
  
*Utterly.* He answered. *I pray my uncle's border guards are watchful this eve,* the Elf looked to Amoran, *and will not shoot her in mistake.*  
  
*We will all pray for the keen senses and judgment of our kin, this night.*  
  
* * *  
  
No sounds were uttered from the walls of darkness that sprouted up on either side of the trail. A disturbed snort would ring forth from one of the animals, announcing their discomfort, but not even words were spoken in their pacification, only reassuring pats and caresses.  
  
There were four lanterns lit amongst the seven companions. Ithillian and Belethil each held their own behind Legolas, as Amoran and Melstoe held the others in the front. The woman's arm quickly grew tired and she rested the lantern upon her bobbing saddle.  
  
She was becoming uneasy, the Elf could tell but his senses were not as focused on her as they might have been but adjusted outwards, into the shadows that threatened to press in upon them.  
  
They were near now, and hiding from the Elven eyes. The disgusting beasts were plotting and waiting as the party was forced to do nothing but travel onward. There would be a trap, he was sure.  
  
The Orc population was allowed to become too large this far south. He knew his uncle strove to keep them in check but they bred so quickly and even a small population could soon fester into uncontrollable numbers.  
  
It was haughty and arrogant for Brilthor to stay so far south these days. Legolas knew that the Elf was resentful of Dol Guldur and he lingered in a manner to essentially bite his thumb at those that still remained there, but though it was understandable, it was dangerous and overconfident.  
  
He heard a rustle in the trees and took up his bow, drawing and nocking an arrow in the process. He could hear the slide of metal as those with lanterns drew their swords.  
  
"Amoran," He whispered and the woman turned from between himself and Melstoe with fear in her eyes, "do not drop the lantern."  
  
She nodded her head, but as he heard another rustle, he continued.  
  
"No matter what, do not drop the lantern."  
  
"I shan't" The woman promised.  
  
Taszuluen halted and snorted towards the trees on her left. Amoran's grip tightened against the lantern as she felt the air grow heavy.  
  
A hand snatched forth and nearly pulled her out of the saddle.  
  
She yelped as an arrow whizzed passed her shoulder, where she had once been sitting, and hit harmlessly upon the dirt beside the hooves of Melstoe's steed. The woman had enough time to look to Legolas with frightened eyes, his focused outwards into the trees, before he gently, yet firmly, placed her back into her saddle.  
  
A dreadful cacophony of shrieks rang forth and echoed on the path as horrid shadows fell out of the boughs above and crashed through the undergrowth.  
  
Amoran screamed as a mangled creature leapt towards her with a notched sword that gleamed like liquid night in the glow of her lantern. The beast fell back gurgling with a green fletched arrow between its mud eyes.  
  
She could hear the packhorse whinny from behind and the woman turned wildly to see the spooked animal trampling a still body upon the ground. Was that blood gleaming from its flank?  
  
"Amoran!" The woman heard Legolas' voice cry out and she whirled in her seat to see him putting away his bow and drawing his long sword. "Do not panic!"  
  
"Taszuluen, Medaloth," The Elf called to the horses, *Run hard, do not turn from the path. Run hard!*  
  
Amoran gripped the reigns and lantern tightly as she felt her horse depart into a gallop. The packhorse, Medaloth, followed closely, but was slowed by a dark arrow that protruded from its hip. Heavy hoof falls whispered in the midst of the clamor of metal against metal and flesh, aggressive screams of assault, and the whizzing of enemy and friendly darts.  
  
* * *  
  
An Orc came screaming out of the trees to Legolas' side, overconfident with his attack. The Elf made a swift and clean sweep with his blade. A screech joined the chorus as the beast dropped its sword to wrap its arms around its stomach in an attempt to contain its innards.  
  
Two arrows whizzed by his ear, and Legolas turned to see Ithillian again taking aim into the darkened trees, his lantern broken upon the ground, though still lighting the footing of the rearguard's horses.  
  
He turned swiftly as he heard another guttural war cry sounded from above.  
  
* * *  
  
She could see nothing.  
  
The fall of horse hooves upon the ground beat their way into her mind. Sounds of battle echoed down the path ringing in her ears louder than humanly possible. Amoran heard gruff panting from behind and opened her eyes.  
  
Light from the lantern was being cast about in dizzying, broken shafts that danced across the passing tree trunks. Taszuluen lurched to the side and Amoran hovered lower over the animal's neck, holding on tightly as the path turned to the right.  
  
Amoran heard the horse snort from behind and she turned to see Medaloth whinny and stumble in her footing.  
  
* * *  
  
Several heavy shadows fell from the forest ceiling down upon the Elf lords. Legolas looked skyward in time to see one bearing down upon him and to brace himself for the confrontation.  
  
"Beredil!" He could hear yelled from somewhere behind him, though it sounded only as a whisper in his perception.  
  
The Orc uttered a deafening scream as it impaled itself upon the Elf's sword. Legolas gave a grunt as he hoisted the writhing and scratching form off of him.  
  
Cursing and thrashing about on the floor, the beast offered little more danger and the Elf turned to see Belethil rolling over his brother's horse to come to the other's aid.  
  
Beredil had been dismounted by one of the falling orcs and they had jumped upon him with wolfish hunger. He had been disarmed in the process and it was all he could do to keep the attacks at bay.  
  
With a mortal blow against the orc that had rose from the ground, Legolas directed his horse to turn and cover Beredil's side from the forest wall, caring little for the grunts and screeches from the bodies his mount danced upon.  
  
* * *  
  
Fear caused the screams in her throat to catch as Amoran saw shadows jump upon Medaloth as she tried to regain her footing. The animal was just within the rim of her lantern light, and was falling further behind. If she fell out of eyesight of Taszuluen and her rider, than the horse would be lost, unable to see, or none the less find, her way in the dark.  
  
Amoran's breath was coming in hard gulps as she tried to keep her head about her. The woman's instinct was to hold the reins as tightly as possible but she knew that that would only slow her mount.  
  
There were gruff curses, panting, and laughter from behind, so close. She fought against herself for a moment; did she truly wish to see?  
  
The woman turned to witness the horse halt in her step and start kicking wildly into the shadows behind her. Medaloth became a shadow herself as she whinnied and was fallen upon the path.  
  
Amoran's fear rose, as she believed she heard a distressed Elf voice in the distance.  
  
"Beredil!" The woman thought was yelled.  
  
She looked behind but saw nothing but pursuing shadow, creeping upon her firelight. Amoran cringed at the sounds of slicing and the distressed cries and snorts of Medaloth.  
  
The woman could sense the song of darts searing through the air and marveled that she could still hear the battle so clearly.  
  
Amoran's face snapped forward to attention as Taszuluen reared and dark shadows fell from the trees before them. Try as she may, the woman was unable to keep a hand on both the lantern and the rearing horse and in her attempt to do so, dropped them both, falling to the ground, and hearing the lantern clatter and break not far away.  
  
* * *  
  
The sound of arrows was nearly nil as most of the Elves had taken up their long swords and the enemy archers in the forest ceiling were now lying upon the soiled earth. Still, more Orc came from all directions and Legolas found himself wondering if they were sprouting from the very darkness.  
  
Belethil and Melstoe had assisted Beredil regain his footing under the protection of Verhute and Ithillian's bows.  
  
Legolas' horse whinnied and he turned and made a sweep at an Orc that had been attempting to approach unnoticed from behind. Unfortunately, the creature jumped to the side in time, frustrating the Elf to not acquire his kill.  
  
The Elven prince turned his head for a moment, though keeping his senses keen upon the other. As he hoped, the beast thought it had been given its chance and soon found itself skewered upon the blade of an Elf that thought himself quite clever.  
  
*And where would our kin be?* Belethil grumbled rather loudly. He turned to see an Orc that had avoided both Verhute and Ithillian's darts running at him. As a primary Bowman himself, he instinctively reached for an arrow. Finding himself with an arrow, an orc, and no bow, Belethil made a quite amusing, in any other situation, and puzzled face. With no other solution in his mind, the Elf dug the arrow manually into the beast's eye, breaking the shaft in the process.  
  
Melstoe made a sound of disgust and disapproval while Beredil took up covering his brother's back.  
  
*Terrible waste of an arrow, dear brother.* He teased and the other only shrugged in return. Beredil began to spar with an Orc possessing an unusually heavy blade. *I thought,* he hit away the blade with a cling, *Nichae told you,* the beast lunged for another upon the ground but received the end of Beredil's boot in return, *to stop,* he dug his sword deep inside the creature's throat and it could only gurgle as it grasped towards the metal, *doing that.*  
  
*He also told you to stop criticizing me.*  
  
*Both of you cease!* Melstoe yelled, quite annoyed with their conversation as he was trying to avoid being skewered himself. He was of the mentality that words had no place in battle. It was just common courtesy. Both of the Elves said nothing more.  
  
Arrows began to rain down from the trees and the Orcs cowered under the assault as if it were acid not darts that fell upon them.  
  
The Elven party let out a communal breath as they looked to the trees and saw that their kin had come to their aid . . .finally.  
  
* * *  
  
Strong hands gripped the woman's shoulders and, against her meager attempt to fend them off, righted her upon sure ground. Though her lantern had broken upon the dirt, the path, nay, not a path, but a rather small clearing was well lit.  
  
Her breathing was ragged and the thought of fleeing played in her mind, but where to?  
  
Tall figures stood, their faces hidden under dark cloaks. One stepped forward from the group and pulled back his hood. Hair, dark as a raven's wing, fell over the shoulders and bordered a handsome face marked with elegant features. Icy blue eyes looked over her from head to foot, his face neither murderous nor hospitable.  
  
Another to his side was calming a still disconcerted Taszuluen, hushing and singing lightly while caressing the animal tenderly.  
  
The Elf before her spoke and she was near tears as she couldn't understand a word. Her hands were shaking, her breath was never enough, and she was alone with these foreign Elves speaking their exotic tongue while those that could verify her identity were back being slain by Orcs that could very well be near, waiting to consume her flesh. She raised a shaky hand to her temple and just shook her head no to whatever he was saying.  
  
He asked another question and she maintained shaking her head. The Elf looked puzzled for a moment but then spoke again.  
  
"Forgive me. Can you understand my words, now?"  
  
She sighed, with slight relief, "Yes."  
  
"You are safe. Do you carry any weaponry?" He asked, again looking over her figure.  
  
"Nay, none." Amoran answered. "The Elves I'm traveling with, we were attacked. They're still back there." She motioned wildly to the path behind her. The Elf held his hands up to pacify her.  
  
"Yes, we know." He attempted to calm. "Many of my guards have already been sent," a pause as the Elf quirked his head as if listening, "and the battle is over. They will be returning now. Soon you shall be with your company."  
  
Amoran tried to regain her breath and nodded her understanding. The Elf let silence come upon them for a short time.  
  
The woman began to feel drowsy as her body caught up to itself. She could hear the soft singing of the other trying to lull the horse's nerves, and were lulling hers as well. Amoran reached out and steadied herself with a hand upon one of those who were standing beside her. She thought he to be the one to have lifted her from the ground.  
  
He let her lean upon him without any movement on his part and, at that moment, she cared not about who he was or what any of them thought.  
  
"Are you hurt?" She heard the Elf's voice ask and she shook her head in reply.  
  
"You must be the maiden traveling with my cousin."  
  
Amoran turned and looked at him questioningly.  
  
"I am called Ardel, taken son of Lord Brilthor, brother to our King Thranduil." He continued.  
  
She blinked several times as she tried to link the names.  
  
"Taken son?" Her voice still slightly shook and she cleared her throat in an attempt to gain some control of it.  
  
"Yes," The other seemed uncomfortable for a moment, as if searching for the correct words to explain, "I am his son, though not of his blood. Is that not the right word?"  
  
"'Tis a fine word." She allowed, "I am merely rather thick minded at the moment, my lord."  
  
Horse hooves beat their way into her perceptions and she looked hopefully down the path, into where the darkness met their circle of light.  
  
"Six horses," Ardel informed her, "weighted with riders. I would say your companions are all breathing."  
  
Soon the horses, six as the Elven Lord had said, came to a halt before them. Her companions swiftly dismounted their horses and approached herself and the others.  
  
As the light shone upon his face, Amoran could see Legolas smile and embrace Ardel.  
  
*Is that you, dear cousin, under all that muck?* He asked, wiping some of the blood on Legolas face away with his hand.  
  
*Long since I have seen you, fair one. Thank you for sending aid . . .eventually.* Legolas' smile grew. Ardel looked at his now dirtied hand, then back to his cousin, without thought he cleaned the blood off his hand on his cloak.  
  
*I knew you could handle yourself, little leaf. What with all the boasting you have made about your bowmanship, I thought you'd appreciate the practice. I know it can get so boring up north, these days.*  
  
The two looked at each other in silence for a moment before both started to laugh and embraced as brothers.  
  
"I see you have met the dear Lady Amoran." Legolas broke away, though he still rested a weary arm across the other's shoulders, and surreptitiously some of his weight, though his cousin made no mention or protest of it.  
  
"Yes, I have had the pleasure, though I had not received her name."  
  
"Ah, then let me properly introduce you." Legolas stepped forward and took Amoran's hand, which still rested against one of the other Elves. He held it lightly in one of his own and faced his cousin.  
  
"Lord Ardel, may I introduce Lady Amoran, daughter of," Amoran's eyes looked sidelong to the Elf as he told his cousin, and herself, the name of her father without hesitation, "Lord Aidan."  
  
The woman attempted her most graceful of curtsies and believed that she pulled it off quite well, considering, even if she did think so herself.  
  
"Lady Amoran, may I introduce my cousin, Lord Ardel, taken son of Lord Brilthor."  
  
Ardel gave a short bow, which was more of an incline of the head and shoulders than anything else.  
  
"It is an honor, my lord." Amoran spoke, quite pleased with herself for remembering Lady Lireal's words.  
  
"The pleasure is mine, my lady." Ardel assured, with a beautiful smile, well practiced, she would say. "You must be greatly fatigued. If we would continue on, you could soon be in a clean gown and a warm bed."  
  
"Thank you. That sounds lovely."  
  
Legolas helped Amoran mount Taszuluen again -making a regretful remark about the missing Medaloth in the process - before turning and speaking again with his cousin, as other horses were lead out from somewhere off the path. Legolas, Ardel, and several of the additional Elves mounted and the group was soon again trotting down a wider path.  
  
* * *  
  
"Are these walls not encompassing the manor?"  
  
Amoran looked upon the tall stone perimeter that rose so high, it disappeared into the forest canopy and seemed to have no limit.  
  
"Yes, they are." Legolas answered from her side. "But we must enter from the Main Gates, which are on the northern side."  
  
"Why on the north? Why not from the east, directly to the paths?" She asked, and hoped it would not sound presumptuous on her part.  
  
"For the gates are ever to face our king in welcoming. Thranduil is to the northwest and thus, so are our gates." Ardel answered from her other side. "It shall not be long, Lady Amoran; we are nearly there."  
  
"But I see no corners and I would think we'd need to turn one before reaching the northern face."  
  
"Nay, for the walls are circular. There are no corners and we are already traveling by what would be considered the northern face." Ardel gestured to a point in the distance, where Amoran could make out pinpricks of light. "See there? Thither are the gates."  
  
"Ah," the woman thought a moment, "forgive my curiosity, my lord."  
  
"Nay, my lady," He corrected, "it is refreshing."  
  
She looked to Legolas with a weary smile and he looked to her sidelong with a quirk of the lips. This did not go unnoticed by Lord Ardel.  
  
* * *  
  
The two cousins walked through the halls in companionable silence, Legolas out of weariness and Ardel because he was busy in his own thoughts.  
  
A maiden had ushered off Amoran to her room and the rest of his party had been shown to their chambers after a short meeting with Lord Brilthor. Legolas had met and spoken with his uncle for only slightly longer, speaking to him of family affairs, the attack, and other pleasantries. Finally, Brilthor decided further words could wait till morning and his cousin now shared his company as they made their way to his usual accommodations.  
  
Ardel opened the doors and both entered into the well-lit chamber. The room was furnished in deep green, gold, and red hues. A fire burned in a large hearth, across from where two leather armchairs awaited.  
  
His cousin quickly found a decanter of wine and poured for the two of them. Legolas opened an adjoining door and small wisps of steam crawled out. A hot bath had been drawn into a deep tub and he could smell lavender oil on the air.  
  
*What took you so long?* His cousin asked, handing him a goblet.  
  
Legolas accepted and walked into the bathroom, his cousin following without closing the door behind them.  
  
*Unexpected delays.* He explained, placing his goblet beside the tub and removing his belt.  
  
*Ah,* Ardel leaned against the wall, studying the contents of his chalice for a moment, *You mean the girl.*  
  
*Yes, Amoran.* Legolas continued removing his clothes, *The rains, and orcs, did not help either.*  
  
*The letter from your father said that the mortal girl has been staying with you for only a couple of seasons.* Ardel continued to speak as Legolas nodded, before pulling his dirtied tunic over his head. *Have you spoken to her much?*  
  
*What do you consider much?* Legolas sat and removed his boots.  
  
His cousin gestured with his goblet. *Enough to say you know her.*  
  
*Curious about her, Ardel?*  
  
The Elf divested himself of his breeches and climbed into the tub that was filled with the most pleasantly warm water. The other shrugged elegantly, taking a sip from his chalice.  
  
*Long has it been since I have been around one of her kind. I am not taken to seeking out their company, and I thought you to be the same.*  
  
Legolas looked to him with hooded eyes.  
  
*What is that to mean?*  
  
*Nothing but that since we are similar in such matters, I had thought to hear what you thought of this girl, to better educate myself.*  
  
*I see.* Legolas reached over and fetched his goblet from the side of the tub.  
  
*Seems you are ever coming with maidens in your presence.* Ardel gave a smile over the rim of his wine.  
  
*Only once before.*  
  
*But still . . .*  
  
*And that was Lady Lireal.* Legolas added.  
  
*Oh, and how fares she?* His cousin asked with polite interest.  
  
*Well, I would say. Happy, I would hope.*  
  
Ardel nodded, *Are you not still close to that maiden?*  
  
*I would think she to soon be a matron,* came his reply.  
  
His cousin paused about to take a sip from his cup. He moved it away, with an inquiring and perhaps slightly surprised look upon his face, *Is that so?*  
  
*Not by me,* Legolas assured and the surprise upon the other's face faded, *but by my friend, Nichae.*  
  
*Ah,* Ardel continued with a smirk, *is he aware of this, yet?*  
  
*Painfully.* Legolas smirked as well, though his quickly faded and his cousin's followed suit.  
  
*And what think you on this?*  
  
Legolas paused and Ardel looked to him sympathetically.  
  
*I am not in love with her, if that is what you are asking.* He paused once again. *And I do not believe I ever was. It is just that . . . I know I should have been.*  
  
*We cannot dictate the ways of our hearts, dear cousin. No matter how hard we try.*  
  
Legolas nodded and took a long draught from his goblet. The Elf placed his chalice beside the tub again and with a look to his cousin, immersed fully into the water.  
  
*Good night to you, as well.* Ardel took a gulp of his wine and departed from the room, leaving Legolas to bathe with his thoughts.  
  
* * * 


	21. Into the Swirling Mist

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-One: Into the Swirling Mist  
  
* * *  
  
With little to do and few to speak with, Amoran spent most of the day wandering the various gardens and paths, with an unknown maiden to her side, that seemed more inclined to contemplate the flora than to converse beyond shallow words with the woman. Amoran tried not to let her annoyance guide her thoughts, but if the maiden wished not to speak with her, she had no interest in the maiden. Of course, their short exchanges soon fell into the silence of two that just happened to be in the other's proximity.  
  
The gardens were beautiful, even Amoran could tell, though she knew little to nothing about the art. Within the circular complex, the trees grew further apart; their branches reaching upward with leaves spread like fingers grabbing for the stars. Well-crafted homes were built upon the support of strong boughs and were connected to others through various bridges that swept from tree to tree. Red flowers grew at their feet, giving the image of a bloody base. It was a vision and a haven in these dark forests and dark times.  
  
Brilthor's home, rightfully the largest of them all, was found in the middle of the expanse, crafted around innumerable ancient trees and stone. It was a striking sight but Amoran could not help feeling less secure here than she did in the Halls of King Thranduil. The massive stone walls that surrounded them from the outside world offered comfort, none the less, to the woman as it obviously did its natives, yet she could not so easily forget as they what lay outside.  
  
"Good morning, my ladies." A sweet voice called from a short distance behind, gently stealing Amoran's thoughts from her surroundings.  
  
She turned to see Ardel standing with a contented countenance. The maiden to her side spoke in her native tongue sounding as whispers and sighs as she made a delicate and graceful bow before her lord.  
  
Ardel seemed pleased, with himself or the other Amoran could not tell, and he responded to the maiden with a teasing voice and an unneeded hand to help her rise from her submissive position.  
  
"Good morn, Lord Ardel." Amoran made a curtsy that looked clumsy compared to the maid's former display. The Elf smiled, his hand lingering upon the other's longer than necessary.  
  
"My lady, I seemed to have lost my cousin, but I have happened upon you, and am left for the better." He offered her his arm, letting the other's hand loose in the process. "Would you join me in the search of the elusive Legolas?"  
  
Amoran looked to his arm a moment before she smiled and accepted, convincing herself that she wished to do so and it was not just his affect upon her.  
  
"Of course, my lord."  
  
Ardel unleashed a delighted grin that made the woman feel as if, at that moment, she were the only being of importance in his eyes. The feeling only slightly faded as he turned to the other maiden and spoke gently in their tongue, raising his free hand to almost touch her cheek before letting it fall away, to the Elven lady's disappointment  
  
"Thank you for keeping me company, my lady." Amoran thanked the other as Ardel began to lead her away. She made sure not to use the other's name as she had forgotten it a short while before. It began with an 's' she believed . . . Lady 'S' nodded before Ardel placed a gentle hand upon Amoran's, which rested upon his arm, and shepherded her away.  
  
* * *  
  
"What do you think of my father's home, Lady Amoran? I hope everything has been to your liking." Ardel asked sincerely enough as they walked leisurely down the paths. She felt as if he knew where he was going but was in no particular rush to arrive there. Yet, rarely was an Elf in a rush to arrive anywhere.  
  
"Yes, everything has been very elaborate." The woman winced as she finished the sentence.  
  
"Elaborate?" Ardel looked to her and thought on her word choice. "Yes, I suppose my father is rather fond of frills."  
  
"I do not mean it as an insult, my lord. It is quite beautiful, quite different." She tried to explain and didn't know how to take Ardel's raised brow and amused eyes. "Not as dark as I would have expected . . . airy."  
  
"Airy . . ." The Elf whispered, adding a new grace to that simple word. She bit her tongue, lest she'd prattle further and only sound more dimwitted. "I like you, Amoran, if you do not mind me saying so. I believe it is your turn of phrase; unique, I would say."  
  
Amoran tried to smile but knew it would come out only as a warped visage of the beauty that seemed, for this moment, to surround her, yet such motions felt distant, as if it were a feeling without sensation.  
  
"Thank you, my lord." She muttered, torn between delighting in the warmth that surrounded this Elf and the cold voice in the back of her mind that warned she might have been safer in the maiden's quiet care.  
  
The other sighed as if he had come to a decision.  
  
"I believe we should be friends, you and I."  
  
Amoran looked to him with disbelief.  
  
"Friends?" She asked skeptically.  
  
"Yes," He responded with a brightness in his eyes. They were chilling, Amoran noticed, but beautiful all the more, "I like having friends. Do you not, Lady Amoran? Then one does not become bogged down with formalities and titles that dim and fade the connections we all are meant to share with each other, as it shall be in the end, but we can truly see the splendor of another. I would like very much if you would call me Ardel."  
  
"My lord - Ardel -," Amoran paused, thinking on his words. She had to admit that he had lost her briefly towards the end and was unsure if it were polite to ask him to explain. Yet, he was offering to drop formalities, "it would be an honor to call you friend. Please, address me as you would."  
  
Ardel allowed another of his smiles before something caught his eye and he rose his head, his smile fading to a small upward lift at his lips' corners.  
  
"I believe we have found Legolas." He informed, indicating a short distance away with his free hand.  
  
Amoran followed the gesture and saw Legolas sitting in one of the lower branches of an Oak tree. Two maidens and Verhute stood beside him, the former leaning against the tree, close to the Prince's form, and the latter standing a short distance away as if not particularly interested in the scene.  
  
Soft laughter rang out from the maidens as the two approached. Verhute acknowledged them with a bow, more meant for Ardel, Amoran thought, than herself. The other maidens quieted swiftly and turned with contented eyes upon them, lowering themselves with murmurs of greeting. Legolas inclined his head in acknowledgment, as it was Ardel's turn to offer a short bow.  
  
"Look who I have found upon my path, Legolas." Ardel said, making a show of Amoran, to her displeasure.  
  
"I had a feeling you would find her, Ardel." The Elf remarked with a sense of leisure about him that she had not seen since they left his father's halls. Ardel rose a dark eyebrow at his cousin's words.  
  
"Yes, I thought to steal her from you." He stated in a teasing tone that held no edge. Amoran was unsure whether to take offense that the idea of the Elf lord stealing her away was so ridiculous or not.  
  
"Forgive me," Legolas laughed, "for I am not afraid."  
  
Amoran pulled her hand from Ardel's arm and the Elf had the grace to look disappointed.  
  
"And I am insulted." She announced, placing a hand upon a hip.  
  
"Do not be, Amoran," Legolas raised a hand in placation, "it is merely that I believe you possess greater wits than that."  
  
Ardel placed a hand over his heart, "Now I am the one left insulted."  
  
Though he tried to feign affront, it could not cover his light mood and the Elf was soon speaking amongst Verhute and the other maidens present. Legolas looked to his cousin for a moment with amusement before he returned his attention to Amoran.  
  
The Elf looked her over for a moment and she felt uncomfortable under his heavy watch. He descended nimbly from the low branch and stood beside the woman, so close that his arm almost brushed against her as he turned and moved to walk away.  
  
"Come with me." He said simply. She cast a weary eye to the others.  
  
"What of your cousin?"  
  
Legolas smiled, "He shall not miss us, and if he does, will seek us out. Come, Amoran, walk with me."  
  
She nodded and followed him. If a faux pas was made, it would be Legolas', not her own. The two walked off in silence for a short while. Legolas appeared content to look about their surroundings and lightly touch low hanging branches but Amoran fiddled with a sleeve of her dress instead. The main garment pooled into arms that were long and bell-shaped but the sleeves of the under-gown, hidden beneath the layer of fabric and atop many more, hugged her arms and wrapped snuggly about her wrists. Amoran wondered if that had been a conscious and wise choice made for the Elven tailors to hide the traitorous rune. Either that or it was a lucky coincidence; of course, the woman tended not to believe in such flimsy things as coincidence and was sure it was the former.  
  
"What think you of my uncle's home?" Legolas asked once they had walked some distance from the others and Amoran could no longer hear Ardel's voice or the maidens' light chatter.  
  
The woman looked about them and sighed. "Pretty."  
  
Legolas turned to her with a glimpse of amusement.  
  
"Your cousin has already interrogated me. I tried to be articulate . . .but I don't think it worked well. I've decided that sticking with simple answers is in my favor." She explained.  
  
"Thus," He made a motion with his hand.  
  
"Pretty." They both said, slightly off from unison.  
  
"Yes." Amoran confirmed with a bit of a smile.  
  
The two walked on, Legolas tempering his gait as not to leave her trailing. Amoran felt a strange sensation as if they were walking in circles; of course, that could very well have been possible.  
  
"Though I doubt you care truly for what I thought." She spoke with a voice that moderated any petulant connotations.  
  
"It is only polite to ask."  
  
"Yes, only polite." The woman mumbled.  
  
"I would think you pleased to see the sun." Legolas spoke with sincerity.  
  
Amoran looked to the earth, dappled with sunlight that snuck through the overhanging leaves and branches to fall upon the ground before her feet. She caught herself again looking downward and cast her eyes back to her companion, to see Legolas gazing at her expectantly.  
  
"Yes, I don't miss it until it's gone."  
  
"Here." Legolas motioned to a large tree a short distance from the trail. She followed him as he diverged from their preordained path.  
  
"My people tend to lament passing before it has even begun." He spoke as they walked upon soft grasses and sidestepped blooms. "Merely the idea that it shall one day pass, sets us into mourning."  
  
"Is that why Elves now avoid the world of Men?" Amoran asked as she followed him around the large tree trunk.  
  
He paused in his step and looked back to her.  
  
"We do not avoid them; we simply do not go out of our way to mingle with them."  
  
The Elf continued around the tree, trailing his hand upon the trunk in a caring gesture. Suddenly he stopped and sat between two roots that shot out of the earth, creating a sizable 'u' in shape. It was as a small throne and it fit him perfectly.  
  
He motioned for her to sit and Amoran gathered her skirt about her before resting a short distance from his feet. The earth was soft and slightly damp under her touch. Legolas leaned his head back against the tree behind him and closed his eyes.  
  
"I remember when it was still so small." He remarked. Her eyes did a short round on all in its view, looking at everything though truly not seeing, but she had not intended to do so.  
  
"What is that?" She asked and he opened his eyes, squinting slightly as a shattered ray of light crept across his face.  
  
"This tree." He patted one of the roots lightly with his right hand for emphasis. It came off as a companionable gesture.  
  
"It's a giant. I can't imagine it ever being small." She murmured while observing the grandiose scale of the branches shading their heads and the roots that Legolas now rested between, thicker than her arm.  
  
"Yet it was." He looked down to Amoran and stated factually, "And not that long ago."  
  
She thought on this a short while. Legolas was content in the silence and amused himself in his ponderings and in observation of the tree above them.  
  
"Legolas."  
  
He returned his gaze to her and she fixed him with serious eyes.  
  
"You are lucky to see such things grow strong." Her voice spoke certainly as she then looked at the tree behind him. Amoran sighed, turning her eyes back to him, and the woman somewhat wilted. "Yes, this tree is nearing its end. But would you focus on its fading . . .rotting and thus forget its greatness and the opportunity it lent you, to see it achieve that? If so, you do it a disservice."  
  
Legolas had no words to that and therefore said nothing.  
  
"Soon shall end our friendship." He chose to veer from her previous statements and create his own, wishing to cast the discomfort from himself.  
  
"You would call me a friend?" She asked, surprise evident in her voice.  
  
He raised an eyebrow at this.  
  
It would soon all be over. She bit her lip to ground herself. Amoran sighed, shakily, to release a held breath.  
  
"'Tis strange." Amoran began to speak.  
  
"What is that?" He asked and the woman almost smiled as his words now echoed her own.  
  
"Is it safe to speak here? Freely?"  
  
He seemed to listen for a moment as both remained silent and then turned back to her with a nod.  
  
"'Tis strange because I do think I'll look back on this, wherever I shall be years from now, and see that this was, perhaps, the height of my life." She paused and tried to find the correct words. "It is awkward to live it . . .but I think it shall be painful to live past."  
  
Amoran could see that this evoked the need for pondering on the Elf's part and she found herself pleased that it did not appear as such a simple thing to him.  
  
"Can you imagine . . ."She stopped herself. "Nay. Have you lived through that?"  
  
There was a long silence between them but Amoran did not break her stare.  
  
He finally met her gaze, "No."  
  
She nodded, again playing with her bottom lip between her teeth.  
  
"I have never heard such words from one of my kind." He continued, "I would think it a mortal trial."  
  
"It is not pleasant." She told him. "Not at all."  
  
"Where would you like us to leave you, upon the trail?" He asked gently after another short silence.  
  
"I'm not returning to your halls, to give the sword to your king?" She questioned, her tone flat though thick with some emotion.  
  
"Nay, my hand is as good as my father's here. It would only cause you greater trouble to travel more than necessary, and my father, as well."  
  
"That's what was decided?"  
  
"Yes." He answered.  
  
"I suppose that it makes sense and assures my freedom." The woman looked to her knees before her, contemplating them in depth. "I should be happy for then there is less of a chance of being thrown into your dungeons, again."  
  
"My father would not do that." Legolas insisted.  
  
"Still . . ." She murmured. Lireal's words concerning the gowns before she left came to mind. "I should have known."  
  
"Where would you have us leave you upon the trail?" He asked again.  
  
"It matters little." Amoran thought for a moment before coming to a decision. "There is an inn a short distance from the trail we took. We avoided it by taking the rocky ground for the horses' footing. I would prefer there."  
  
"As you wish." Legolas allowed, relieved that he could assure her that small bit.  
  
She took a shaky breath and turned to him. "It appears my time is shorter yet."  
  
The woman gave a sardonic smile but it was not strong and quickly faded. She found interest in some falling leaf or fly, as despair came upon her.  
  
Amoran's cheeks were unbearably hot as tears brimmed her eyes. She desperately wished for them to go away and to regain control but they would not listen to her silent pleas. One cool, damp line drew its way down her face as she tightened her lips to still them.  
  
A warm hand reached out and covered the trail with his palm. Legolas looked to her with sympathy and caring. She closed her eyes to not see his face and several new tears wound their way down hers, some falling off her chin, others collecting on her lips. Amoran hated them so, but it only added to their numbers.  
  
"There is still time, Amoran."  
  
She felt his hand gently trail down her cheek. His fingers came to rest upon her lips and she couldn't help taking a shaky breath through them.  
  
Amoran opened her eyes. His rested on where his fingers touched her before rising to meet the woman's gaze.  
  
"Do not fill it with tears."  
  
He gave her a smile, his hand moving to hold her cheek, and though Amoran wished not to, she could not resist following the gesture. Legolas cleared a tear from her chin with his thumb before he rose before her. She looked up to him and felt so small, while he towered above her.  
  
The Elf offered her a hand and she grasped it in one of her own. Easily, he helped her to stand.  
  
"It is time for the mid-day meal. You shall meet my uncle." He told her and she laughed shortly, wiping her face with a hand.  
  
"Splendid. He shall see me with blood-shot eyes and a tear stained face."  
  
Legolas smiled before he spoke, softly as if it were a secret. "Honestly . . .I doubt he shall notice."  
  
Amoran laughed harder at that. She sniffled once.  
  
"Why wasn't he at breakfast?" She asked as he began to lead her away. Amoran noticed that he did not drop her hand as she expected but made no attempt to bring it to his attention.  
  
"He never takes breakfast." Legolas informed her. "He prefers to rest through it. The night and remaining day he spends attending his duties."  
  
"Odd." Amoran mumbled as they stepped back upon the trail they came.  
  
* * *  
  
"What would you have me give, Amoran?"  
  
The words were ever in her mind. Simple words, yet she found them condemning. For the answer, the woman insisted was unknown.  
  
They rang in her mind while he turned to her and spoke.  
  
"I fear abandonment."  
  
"From whom?" Her own voice sounded uncertain.  
  
"Everyone."  
  
How dreadful it must be to have someone to loose, the thought fleeted through her mind.  
  
"How dreadful it must be to have no one to loose."  
  
The woman wondered how such simple words delivered by the most pleasant of voices could instill such turmoil.  
  
But he didn't say that. Did he?  
  
"Even the stars change. They are precious to us, yet even they do not remain." Hurt in his voice sounded louder for all the even delivery.  
  
"I did not notice."  
  
"You are not old enough to."  
  
Never had she been privy, or suffered, such a look of sorrow. It was not something she wished to see again.  
  
"Have they not always been there?" She asked without thought.  
  
"As long as I can remember."  
  
"And before you?"  
  
A pause where the wind caressed her hot cheeks, and his.  
  
"I cannot imagine anything before me." He admitted.  
  
"But there was." She spoke soft and slowly, as the thought seemed so innate to the woman  
  
"So I am told."  
  
The grass was such a vibrant green beneath her feet, while they were surrounded by darkness. The campfire was so far away.  
  
"I'm afraid of the dark." She heard her weak voice confess.  
  
"There is nothing to fear as long as there is starlight."  
  
"And when the stars fade out?"  
  
"You shall not live to see that day."  
  
"How morose." The woman stated as if the words were not coming from her but had already been uttered.  
  
"But I shall." He cast confident eyes upon her and only then did she shiver.  
  
Amoran wondered at the certainty in his voice. Was there such a certainty for Men?  
  
Yes. That they shall die.  
  
Certainties could be as damning as their unreliable brother.  
  
"What would you give for comfort?"  
  
If only it could be bought.  
  
"He shall wish to remain at her side." Legolas stated without feeling, though his hands clenched into fists.  
  
Amoran remembered the proud Elf Lord placing a kiss upon his wife's forehead. At that moment, their burdens were shared, and they strengthened with relief.  
  
"Your father loves her, doesn't he?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"It must be such a comfort."  
  
The look of sorrow melted and his brow furrowed into another, which she could not read, that stole its place.  
  
"Yes. What I would give for such comfort." Was that longing in his voice?  
  
A touch, a moment, for that is as long as it would last.  
  
What could be sacrificed for such?  
  
Queen Sabriel's eyes spoke of such condemnation and a guilt grew within the woman. Until her heart cried out for her to flee.  
  
"They all are leaving. They all shall abandon me in the end. I cannot follow for they have not chosen the same path. I shall be left alone to fade."  
  
Again, the look of sorrow she wished never to see. It was the face of one on the edge of hopelessness. Guilt once more claimed her heart.  
  
"My worries are little and shadowed by yours." She heard herself voice, little as the girl she had once been.  
  
"Our worries, our fears cannot be compared."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For there is no even ground between our peoples."  
  
The statement burned deep and she bit her lip to stifle any rash words or illogical tears, which burnt in her eyes though Amoran wished them leave.  
  
"How can you ever tell if you never look to me? Your eyes are ever to the sky." She asked, tempering the bite in her tone as best she could, though it felt out of her hands at that moment.  
  
"And yours to the ground."  
  
Amoran realized the truth of this statement as she raised her eyes from the green and muddy earth to see Legolas with his face still embracing the starlight though he observed her sidelong.  
  
"Perhaps the others shall leave, as you have fated, but I am beside you. You need only to look to me to see."  
  
Dropping his eyes from the sky, he warily sent her an appraising gaze.  
  
"But for how long?"  
  
Amoran awoke unsure of whether she had ever truly fallen asleep. The dream was dark in her mind while the room was lit by the fading firelight. Her heart beat wildly as breath came shakily back to the woman. Words were fleeting while the remembered images quickly faded, warped, and merged. She did not doubt that it would soon become nothing more than a memory of a beating, burdened heart and unsure breath.  
  
* * *  
  
She could not have slept long, if she could call that sleep at all. The night sky peered through outside branches and the windowpane, casting its dark eye upon her.  
  
Cold, the floor was cold beneath her bare feet. It served to wake her and send chills through her body. Taking a perverse pleasure in the odd sensation, she made her way across the rather large room to where a glass of water sat upon a small, ornamental table.  
  
The woman nearly choked as a knock came upon the door. With a small cough, clearing the misguided liquid from her lungs, she placed the glass shakily back on the table. She paused, her fingers lingering on the rim, causing the water to lightly dance within to rhythm of the shake in her hand.  
  
Amoran was purposefully procrastinating, and she knew this fact, though it changed it not. It was night, or early morning; she could not tell for there was no moon or stars to lend her their position on the subject.  
  
Again came another rap that echoed in the room.  
  
With a sigh, she crossed the expanse, gathering a robe on the way. She wrapped it tightly about herself before placing her hand warily upon the doorknob.  
  
Amoran opened the door, no more than enough to lend the visitor a full view of her face and the hand that she had placed against the doorframe, in an unconscious desire for touch, merely to feel anything to remind her she was awake.  
  
Ardel stood before her, a kindly smile on his face. Her eyes fell a short distance passed him to where Legolas stood with his back to her, appreciating some tapestry, gently running his fingers over the finely woven threads and details. Her eyes returned to the Elf before her, yet his no longer rested on her but slightly above her shoulder and to the right.  
  
She turned her eyes to follow his and surprise soon faded into horror. The robe she wore was made of a fine fabric she knew naught of. It hadn't been tailored to her size and thus pooled on the floor at her feet while the sleeves engulfed her hands in their midst. It was a pain to walk in but comfortable to lounge within. Amoran had paid it little thought when she'd thrown it on her body and even less when she had positioned the traitorous hand upon the doorframe.  
  
The excessively long sleeve had fallen down the length of her forearm and pooled at her elbow. Her wrist was exposed, and the rune in turn, to Ardel. Not only was it exposed but was perfectly positioned to his eye-height. Amoran's arm fell as a blur and flourish of fabric as it hid behind her back, as if it still mattered.  
  
Reluctantly, her eyes met Ardel and he let a small sly look pass over his face, as if he had known all along, or at least suspected. When he spoke, the infinity of the moment ended and she was left with the feeling that the memory was both as an eternity and a breath.  
  
"We awoke you." Ardel spoke, and Legolas turned, one would think he had just noticed that the door had opened. She'd be surprised if they hadn't heard her approach the door through the very walls, unsettling as that concept's possibilities were.  
  
"Is there something I can do for you, my lord?" Amoran was unsure of what to say. What was proper for one to say in that situation? If it had been up to her, she would have slammed the door then, right in his beautiful face, and taken refuge deep within the bedcovers, curling herself till she was as small as possible.  
  
"There's something Legolas," At this he turned and motioned to his cousin, who looked almost uncertain, "and I thought you might enjoy. That is, if you don't mind loosing some sleep."  
  
She paused, mouth slightly ajar, looking over Ardel's shoulder to Legolas for silent instruction. Ardel followed the movement and turned himself to look between his cousin and the mortal, like many things with him, making a show of it.  
  
"Not at all," Amoran mumbled, casting her eyes briefly to the floor out of the habit's security before sliding her eyes to the dark Elf before her, "I shall need a moment to change, lest you'd wish my attendance in little more than a shift." The woman could not help adding, though her mind screamed, "Poor Form!"  
  
"That would be interesting." Ardel mused, a slight curve of the lips, sharing a look with Legolas, which the other seemed to disapprove of.  
  
"We shall wait while you dress." Legolas announced, sharing another look with Ardel. Amoran only wished she knew the thoughts and messages behind them.  
  
Somehow, though she had leave to do so, it seemed wrong to be the one to close the door on the two. It was as if, when she opened it, she'd find them gone. Such a silly fear, Amoran mused, for a silly girl.  
  
* * *  
  
The music and wine served to heighten the senses as Elves mingled, sung, danced, and touched. Moonlight broke through the branches casting long shafts upon the glade. Maidens danced in light dresses, their faces and hands raised, immersed in the starlight, pulsing silver against the background of midnight shadows.  
  
Wine was poured, dark as the night. Elven lords joined the maidens in their dance often and when not, indulged in other manners.  
  
Though the night was chilling, none shivered to its will, heated by the merriment as they were.  
  
Soon after they had arrived, and Amoran had taken her first goblet enthusiastically, Ardel had disappeared into the mist, which surrounded them in the distance and from the ankle down.  
  
Amoran leaned against one of the encircling trees, chalice in hand, eyes closed, and unmoving. The woman's gown was as dark as the shadows about her body, hair falling across her face, breaking, and adding to, the image of blissful ignorance.  
  
"Amoran." Legolas called, a short distance before her. He expected her to jump, but all she did was hum some reply. How much had she consumed?  
  
Men could be so easily influenced, both in body and mind.  
  
"Would you like to return to your chamber? It is nearing morn."  
  
"No." Came back as a satisfied murmur.  
  
"Amoran?" He asked as he moved towards her. She again hummed back a reply. "I am taking you back to your bed."  
  
Legolas reached out to take her goblet gently from her hands. The motion caused Amoran's eyes to open. She smirked and pulled it back from him. He sighed and tried to look reprimanding. Amoran burst out into laughter.  
  
Legolas turned as he heard familiar laughter, adding to her own, approaching from behind.  
  
"Ah, cousin," Ardel smiled, leaning in a friendly manner upon Ithillian, "such a face!"  
  
Ithillian allowed a small smirk as he took a draught of wine, before a maiden came from behind and took the goblet from his hands. She took a sip herself.  
  
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself, earlier." He continued, "Amoran looks to be enjoying herself, now. Are you not, Amoran?"  
  
The woman actually shrugged. "I've had better."  
  
Ardel took the goblet from the Elven maiden's hand and took a sip, brow raised in question.  
  
"But I've also had worse." She whispered over the brim of the silver chalice, a devious smirk upon her lips.  
  
This seemed to intrigue the Elf for a moment, causing one eyebrow to rise. Then he began to laugh and handed the goblet to Ithillian, who was pleased to have it back from its little escapade.  
  
"I believe she has had enough." Legolas made a half-hearted attempt for her wine once again, but she pulled away, pleased with her cunning reflexes. "I was to return her to bed."  
  
"Were you?" Ardel asked, innocently.  
  
"Ardel . . ." Legolas said in an exasperated and warning voice.  
  
"I don't want to go." Amoran spoke, hugging the goblet close to her breast.  
  
"Yes, she has just arrived." Ardel walked past Legolas to lean against the tree beside the woman. She seemed delighted with her supporter.  
  
Ithillian laughed into his goblet before being led a short distance away by the maiden, who was already calling to another group in the mist. Legolas gave a nod to their leave.  
  
"Are you tired, Amoran?" Ardel asked in a soft voice as a hand ascended towards her breast. She seemed to be unaware of the movement but watched his face as he began speaking to her softly in Sindarin.  
  
*Interesting that you would bring such a maiden with you.* He cooed near the woman's ear, though he cast a glance to Legolas to be sure he was listening. *My father was surprised when the letter from Thranduil arrived. *A mortal?* he asked. Between you and I, he thought it one of my uncle's devious little plots . . . or just a brotherly taunting.* The woman closed her eyes as she listened to his murmurings. Ardel's hand settled upon the goblet she held close to her bodice but made no other movement. *I was told to watch her. There is no telling what the little mortal could be up to.*  
  
*Oh, and that is why you are so attentive, Ardel?* Legolas asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
The other smiled as his hand gently closed around the goblet's stem. Amoran had opened her eyes and was looking to them questioningly.  
  
*Of course.* Ardel breathed near her ear.  
  
*You should cease that,* Legolas warned. Ardel gently slid the goblet from the woman's hands, *lest you wish her to wrongly assume your motives.*  
  
The other raised the goblet to his lips with a question in his eyes. Just before the chalice would rest against his mouth, his breath rustling the burgundy liquid, Ardel let his eyes fall within the cup then slide to meet Legolas' own. There was a glint of intent in them as he offered Amoran's wine to Legolas in his stead.  
  
Legolas accepted the goblet possessively and tried not to frown at the smirk upon his cousin's lips as he walked past him to pierce silently through the mist, near where Ithillian and the maiden had disappeared.  
  
The Elf unconsciously took a sip from Amoran's chalice as he thought mutely to himself, looking at the woman before him, who was looking back in a rather disconcerting manner.  
  
"I don't understand you." The woman murmured into the silence.  
  
Legolas opened his mouth, about to speak, but Amoran continued before he could.  
  
"You've told me things, but I still don't understand you." Her hand absentmindedly rubbed against her right wrist. "You've told me things - I'm sure you regret it - but I still don't know why you said, "No.""  
  
"Amoran, this is not the place." Legolas gently reminded.  
  
"No, I'm not going to let you whisk me away in words or places until I forget you haven't answered me. I want you to answer me, now!" She stomped a foot with the last word. At the moment, it was not difficult for the Elf to imagine her as an emotional child.  
  
"Then ask me a question, Amoran." Legolas instructed, taking another sip from her goblet.  
  
"Why did you stop me?" She asked without a moment's hesitation.  
  
Legolas was silent.  
  
"There were many voices to my logic."  
  
Amoran gave a sound of disgust to his answer.  
  
"What did they say?" She interrogated, curtly.  
  
"That it would not have been proper for me to have let you continue." He retreated back to the goblet's warm embrace.  
  
"And?"  
  
"And . . ." Legolas trailed off, "I did not know why you acted so. I am an authority figure; I believed you were seeking favor through your actions."  
  
Amoran gave a small laugh that was anything but amused, "Ah, a little tart trying to bed the Privy Purse?"  
  
Legolas felt as if he should object but Amoran rose a hand to stop any such attempts and continued.  
  
"I do not deny that that is not beyond me." She spoke ruefully, letting her hand fall and rest upon the tree supporting her unsure form. "But not in this instance. Please, believe me."  
  
"I believe that." Legolas answered, truthfully.  
  
"And if I were to kiss you, now?" She asked after a moment of silence.  
  
"You would have a much more expansive audience and I believe Ardel's amused smirk would become a permanent feature upon his face."  
  
"Would you say, "No.", yet again?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Her face twisted into a scowl and Legolas almost took an involuntary step back.  
  
"Why?" She said, too loud. "Does this mortal disgust you?"  
  
"Amoran . . ."  
  
"Or is it just the thought of touching me?"  
  
The voices at the periphery of Legolas' thoughts ceased and only the music sang on into the early morn, sounding oddly out of place.  
  
"Amoran, think on your words. Think where we are. Think." Legolas whispered. "You may regret your actions, come dawn."  
  
"Nay, it is you who will regret. I care little for these people." She continued, though, to his thanks, in a whisper.  
  
He dropped the goblet, and its contents to the ground, paying it no heed as he grasped her arm and shepherded her into the trees. Her influenced feet stumbled after some distance upon the misty path. Easily, Legolas supported her and little harm came from the lack of footing. Amoran took the moment to take a hold of his shoulders and turn him toward her.  
  
"All I ask of you, all I will be to you, is a moment. But it is all I can spare. I offer you everything, yet you deny. You think!" The woman spoke swiftly, her eyes holding him though it would have been so easy for him to shrug her grasp and drag her along the path he wished.  
  
"You have no idea what you ask of me." He replied in an acidic tone.  
  
"Mayhap you should think on what I am offering, in the stead of what I shall take."  
  
"And what would that be, Amoran?" He asked, voice low and almost threatening. "A moment of dalliance? A passionate tryst, that shall cease come morn?"  
  
"Comfort." Amoran whispered, breath short and longing, while her heart was beating fervently within her breast. "In your premature mourning, you do me a disservice by marking me as already gone. I am here, now; make use of me!"  
  
Amoran had a moment to register surprise as her hands were pushed away and Legolas' settled on either side of her face.  
  
"Is this what you want?" His cold eyes pierced her thoughts as he spoke, so close his warm breath played across her face, before he laid his lips against her faintly opened own.  
  
She froze at his touch and her hands settled unmoving to her sides. The gentle caress soon became demanding. His lips were insistent against her and she could not move with his hands holding her steadily where he wished.  
  
Legolas smelt strongly of the night's wine, though she did not taste it upon him. The feeling intoxicated her senses as he teased her lips to yield to his touch. She tried to deepen the gesture, but Legolas withdrew at the attempt, nipping her lower lip. Frustration filled her before the Elf advanced the kiss to his own liking and replaced it with a delicious warmth. Too soon did he withdraw with a last, strong nip, almost a punishing gesture.  
  
Amoran caught her breath as it sounded loudly in her senses. She was pleased that Legolas', though not as wanting as her own, came faster than normal, as well. He hesitated a moment, before running a hand down her face, to settle against her throat. His bright eyes held her darker ones and she was startled to see a storm in them.  
  
"Now, we shall face the damning consequences." He whispered harshly beside her ear, her breath catching at his words, before he separated from her, and the path, without another glance.  
  
Rising a hand to her breast then lips, she wondered what had just happened and come morning, would she find all for naught. Yet, upon the ground fell one of the first broken rays of morning's light. Dawn had already come, in Legolas' embrace.  
  
With his parting words, it seemed inappropriate to smile, yet Amoran did just that as she settled upon the path's rocky ground. It was some time until another Elf came upon and escorted her back to her chamber, but she cared not for it had been long since the woman's eyes had so delighted upon a single ray of light. For that moment, no darkness pervaded her thoughts, though she knew it as an eventuality.  
  
* * * 


	22. Torn in the Face of Flames

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Two: Torn in the Face of Flames  
  
* * *  
  
Days passed and Legolas remained an aloof presence where Amoran was concerned, quite purposefully on his part. The Elf thought it best not to see her for a short time, he knew she would ask questions, perhaps even the same questions he was asking himself. Legolas did not wish to face her without knowing what his answers were to be. The situation had already slipped too far out of his control; he would not deprive himself of this small bit of power.  
  
He knew little of how she filled her days and remembered how easily she became bored. Amoran reacted badly to boredom, to restrictions. Legolas wondered how she was dealing with those frustrations. Ardel had told him that she'd been escorted back to her rooms, but had spoken nothing of her since. The Elf had known that another would find her and she would not long be alone upon the path, but had a lingering pang of guilt until Ardel's offhand confirmation.  
  
Legolas had spent much of the morning draped over a tree branch, observing those below him and, at times, braving the sun and squinting under its hot touch. It was a slight rustle of fabric that stole his attention that midday.  
  
He had summoned the other, of course, and thus was not surprised by the new presence. Legolas swiftly fell from the tree to land sturdily upon his feet.  
  
Verhute turned to him without surprise.  
  
*How fares your sister?* Legolas asked in way of greeting.  
  
*Well, and her husband, also.* He answered with a small smile. Legolas allowed a short nod at the return and folded his arms across his chest.  
  
*Did you see it?*  
  
*Yes.* Verhute answered plainly.  
  
Legolas felt pleased with himself as that one bit of information had not grown more complicated. *I held doubt that he would move it.* He paused and continued in an offhand manner, *Will it be difficult?*  
  
*No.* The other's eyes searched the prince's relaxed form, too relaxed, forced.  
  
Again, the Elf nodded, looking into the branches above as sunlight crept through their fingers and all about him. *Little appears difficult for you, Verhute.*  
  
*They are expecting her.*  
  
Legolas' attentions were swiftly returned to his elder. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes.  
  
*Let them.* The words almost sounded as a laugh.  
  
*They shall be greatly . . . displeased once everything is played out.* Verhute spoke and Legolas could feel the tone that translated into entertainment where others may have only seen boredom.  
  
*Yes, he will.* The prince saw gold approach in the distance, leisurely advancing down the paths alone. His uncle was soon caught in conversation with one of the gardeners. *I kissed her.*  
  
Legolas took a long breath, closing his eyes as he waited for the words to be thought on.  
  
*You feared you would.*  
  
He opened his eyes and searched out Brilthor, still exchanging words with the other. *You knew.*  
  
Verhute gave pause before answering, *I thought it an eventuality once the touches changed.*  
  
*When was that?*  
  
*You know as well as I.*  
  
Legolas finally looked to the other and was relieved to meet Verhute's supportive, though not necessarily encouraging, gaze. *When I began avoiding them.*  
  
The other gave the slightest of nods.  
  
*Do you think me irresponsible?* Legolas asked, almost as a child seeking to be reassured.  
  
*Nay, Legolas, not irresponsible, fallible.* Verhute gently corrected. *And no more than I nor your father, nor any other being of Middle-earth.*  
  
*It is not the passion I fear.* Legolas continued, his eyes ever tracing his uncle's advancements, slowed as he was interrupted upon his path with important exchanges that would take but a moment. *It is what shall come about from it. My heart yearns for another to hold to in these times. Our time is fading and everything is changing. I feel that I shall fade with it, not into the past, but into the times to come. I long for the security of the moment.*  
  
He paused for some time, focusing on his slow breathing. *And what better creature of the moment than her?*  
  
*If you long for the moment, why not embrace it?*  
  
*Strange for you to say, Verhute, as I believe you have lectured me many a time that desires are not always meant to be fulfilled.*  
  
*Never have I told you to ignore them away.*  
  
Legolas turned to Verhute, looking to him with reserved respect. *Tell me to do just that, and I shall. I shall harbor no aversion towards you for it.*  
  
*I do not fear your dislike for me come that request, but the threat of it coming with my silence.* Verhute spoke a seriousness befitting his words.  
  
*And what say you?* Legolas asked in an attempt for a straight answer and wisdom from the other.  
  
*Nothing,* came the unwanted response, *of the moment.*  
  
Legolas turned from him then, in permission for the other's leave. With a slight incline of the head, Verhute departed shortly before Brilthor arrived in his resplendent robes and a pleased mood about him.  
  
*Good day, uncle.* Legolas greeted.  
  
Brilthor looked about them as if truly seeing his surroundings, *Ah, yes, it is.*  
  
When did the Elven Lord begin to forget to look about him and why had Legolas not noticed before?  
  
*I just spoke to Mirawen, she looks forward to speaking with you this eve. It shall be a lovely reception.* His uncle held up a hand to subdue objections that were never threatening to come, *I know you wished this to be a more personal, quiet visit before your mother . . .but I could not ignore your presence, nor that of the maiden.  
  
*Speaking of her, shall you be escorting the girl or shall one need to be arranged? Ardel, of course, would be more than willing to in your place but he plans on escorting his mother. I am sure he could be convinced to trade with you, Legolas.* Brilthor continued with a small lift of the brow in amusement, *He thinks it his duty to defend her from the other lords, but I believe he would trust you with her.*  
  
Legolas allowed a small smile at the statement while he thought on his wishes. *I shall be the one to escort Amoran.*  
  
Brilthor nodded, though his eyes were intent upon his brother's thoughtful son.  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas stood with his hands behind his back, patiently waiting in one of his uncle's halls. He gazed out an open window, the cool spring breeze playing across his fair face as he gazed through the darkened leaves down upon the gardens and people below. The sound of heavy footsteps had rang in the distance for some time, he knew Amoran drew near.  
  
He turned as the woman and her temporary escort rounded one of the hall's endless bends and appeared to his side.  
  
"Good evening, Amoran." Legolas greeted.  
  
She released the other Elf's arm and folded her hands before herself. "Hello, Legolas."  
  
The woman's voice was tight and when she didn't speak, her lips were pressed into a tight line.  
  
*You may go.* Legolas excused and the other gave a nod to the two, before disappearing down the hall.  
  
Amoran's eyes were cast downward, her hands wringing together before her. She looked upset, yet restrained. Legolas wondered what it would take to steal that restraint.  
  
He sent a slow appraising eye over her form as she stood before him. Her moderate height was wrapped in a fine dress of Elven make that pooled gently about her feet. Somehow, it felt odd to see her dressed so. The finery did not fit this woman before him. As if sensing his thoughts, her eyes rose and she lifted her chin defiantly.  
  
"I wondered when I'd see you again." She spoke in a low, controlled voice.  
  
"I needed time alone with my thoughts."  
  
"Ah." Amoran uttered breathlessly, "You weren't merely avoiding me?"  
  
"Not for the sake of it."  
  
She gave a short smile that appeared nothing but forced, but it seemed an attempt to strengthen her voice. "I suppose that's a bit less infuriating."  
  
Legolas lifted an eyebrow with surprise. "You are angry with me?"  
  
"Yes." She answered shortly. Amoran crossed her arms below her bust and took a calming breath, "Among other things: disappointed and worried . . .and angry, too. But I do not think myself unreasonably so."  
  
"Why?"  
  
A strangled and choked sound rose from her throat that could've been interpreted as a laugh. "You kiss me then disappear into the trees for days. Days!"  
  
Amoran continued, seeing the look upon Legolas' face. "Do you know how I filled my days?" She didn't wait for him to answer, "I filled them with little walks and talks that truly meant nothing, to myself or anyone else, when really I was thinking of you."  
  
"Me?" Legolas' intrigue at the admission laced through the one word.  
  
"Yes, you." Amoran answered curtly. The Elf couldn't help a small smile as she rolled her eyes. "I was left in uncertainty for days. 'Tis torture."  
  
"Only days." He tried to explain but decided to hold his tongue, as the woman's restraint seemed to waver for a moment. Legolas could see something wild in her eyes, merely waiting for provocation.  
  
"Hours, I could understand, but days?" She paused for a slow breath. "Though you may, I do not possess eternity. I cannot be expected to live as if I---."  
  
"Of course." Legolas interrupted the woman mid-sentence. "I should have been thoughtful and sent some word to you. Forgive me for it is difficult to think with time's such heavy hand."  
  
Amoran appeared at a loss for her words. "You understand, that is rather frustrating . . . Though I have suffered much idleness, I needed time with my thoughts, as well." Her eyes shone a quelling glance. "After all, I could do little else . . . and there was much I did not understand and Elves seldom act where they believe it a waste of effort. I see your reasoning, and, reluctantly, believe it excusable. But do not think it so easily forgotten."  
  
"I am relieved for," Legolas paused, allowing opportunity for reconsideration, "we need to speak."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"No." He offered Amoran his arm and she hesitated but a moment before accepting with a strange sense of familiarity. "We must make an appearance first. I shall find you before the night is done."  
  
Amoran looked to him expectantly as they began their way together down the corridor. He smiled kindly with a gentle, reassuring caress of the hand that rested upon the crook of his arm. Legolas felt the woman draw nearer to him with the gesture and for a moment, questioned his decision.  
  
* * *  
  
Music played gently in a large hall and the murmurings of the attendees added to its beauty. White flames cast their ethereal glow upon the walls, painted in murals of great trees and starry skies, fast rivers flowing into the darkened west. Food was being served by Elves carrying platters through the mass of bodies and wine was poured to all from any that happened to have been handed the decanter.  
  
Towards the back of the room, before one of the largest windows crafted into the façade of the golden tree of Valinor, stood a beautiful Elven lady and lord.  
  
*Legolas! I am so pleased to see you.* Mirawen released Ardel's arm to embrace the prince.  
  
*And I you. Where have you been these past days?*  
  
Amoran had taken a step away from Legolas as he was embraced by the other and now stood uncomfortably to the side. Legolas extended a hand towards her and she willingly moved closer to him.  
  
*I wished time alone.* Mirawen seemed to retreat into herself at the words. *Time alone with my dear Vagothalion.*  
  
*And what a dutiful wife he has in you.* Legolas praised as Ardel put a protective hand upon her elbow.  
  
*It is my hope that it brings him strength in The Halls.* The matron's eye was caught by Amoran. *You must be the lady who has traveled with Legolas.*  
  
*She does not speak Sindarin.* Ardel gently told her.  
  
*Ah.* Mirawen thought a moment. *Please give her my regards, Ardel.*  
  
"Amoran," Ardel spoke and the woman jumped a bit at the sudden recognition. "This is my mother, Lady Mirawen. She has me give her regards as she does not speak your tongue."  
  
"Your mother?" Amoran's eyes widened as she looked over the matron. Ardel merely nodded. "Oh, oh, forgive me. She appears so young, I mean . . . Please, forgive me."  
  
*You have hers, as well.* Legolas told Mirawen, who had been watching the woman with a mixture of confusion and amusement. He placed a hand in the middle of Amoran's back. "We understand." He reassured Amoran gently.  
  
Lord Brilthor joined them from behind Legolas.  
  
"Good eve, my lord." Amoran greeted. The other inclined his head slightly in credit.  
  
"I would like to speak with my nephew, Lady Amoran." Brilthor returned and the woman seemed puzzled for a moment.  
  
"I see Beredhor's sons and Ithillian, mayhap Ardel would join you in a discussion with them?" Legolas rose his eyes to Ardel and the other only gave a slight smile before taking Amoran's arm and escorting her a short distance across the room. Mirawen gave a last word before disappearing into the colorful bodies that filled the chamber.  
  
*Almost as a child, is she not?* Brilthor's eyes followed Amoran as she spoke in the small group of Elves with Ardel, sliding to Legolas sidelong as he answered.  
  
*No . . .not a child.* Legolas changed subject, *You wished to speak with me?*  
  
*Yes, of course.* The Elven lord tore his mind from other ponderings. *I wished to speak to you of your mother.*  
  
*What of my mother?* Legolas' voice was low as he looked coldly upon his uncle.  
  
*Do you wish to see her leave? I know Oregaladh was closer to her than you but all the same, I know you care for her very deeply. Must you be there?*  
  
His uncle's words were said only in comfort and Legolas knew them in such but all the same he took them as unwanted and thus unwelcome.  
  
*Yes, I must for I have not spoken sufficient words . . .*  
  
*Legolas, save words for when you join her.*  
  
*Nay,* His eyes searched out Amoran as she seemed to have melted into the crowd. He found himself surrounded by walls of bodies, all turned from him and the lord, *I have yet to feel the call. Middle-earth still holds me to her and I see no change in sight.*  
  
*You are young.* Brilthor looked over him critically before his eyes shone understanding, *You go not to utter your goodbyes but to assure her guilt.* Legolas' stature stiffened at the words, *You wish her to feel guilt for abandoning you here. Though satisfying in the short, it is cruel, Legolas, cruel and unfair.*  
  
*You see through the eyes of one fogged with empathy to those of the call, but what of us who are left behind? Our time grows short but we have yet to truly explore it and are denied. My dreams are of the trees of Greenwood, yet I am told of the great sea and Valinor. Both hold beauty in my eyes, dear uncle, but I feel that the former is to be stolen from me with every voyage to the Grey Havens. Forgive me my bit of selfishness, and take comfort in the understanding that I know it is wrong.*  
  
Legolas turned to leave but as he did so, he heard his uncle's parting words.  
  
*Do not take understanding to be approval. But know that you shall always find home here.*  
  
Legolas paused in his step at the message but continued in the next moment to exchange pleasantries with others as Amoran had momentarily eluded his sight and the minute of private exchange had ended.  
  
* * *  
  
The night was filled with music, singing, and banter as the moon fell in its pursuit of the stars. A darkness, unique to the early hours of the morn, descended on the Elves as they gathered together under the light of white flame. Legolas weaved in and out through the conversations and people over the hours and it was some time before he came upon Amoran with the purpose of stealing her into the shadows.  
  
He gave few words in explanation as he guided her through the halls and down stairs that wound around trunks of great trees. Legolas would stop and listen as he heard others draw near but with assurance of no interruption continued onward until they were alone under the cover of a glade of oaks.  
  
"Legolas," Amoran filled the name with question as he let loose his hand that had lingered upon her elbow and turned to her. She could not speak more as he captured her voice in a kiss.  
  
He placed a guiding hand upon the small of her back as he held her to him and the woman did not struggle under his touch. Her hand snaked up his arm to take a grip upon his cloak as Legolas gently pulled away.  
  
The woman looked to him quizzically, her mouth slightly parted, before a glint came to her eye and a smirk to her lips. "You're still here."  
  
Legolas could not help but laugh at the words. He ran a free hand down the length of her face, curving with her jaw, and lightly lifting her chin.  
  
"Am I still welcome?" Legolas asked, leaning slightly over her in expectation.  
  
Her smile grew as she looked upon him. "Oh, yes."  
  
Amoran's grin fell as she returned the tender kiss he offered that played so differently than the one of parting of time's past. It was with a sigh and moan that he pulled from her again and took a step away, resting both hands beneath her elbows and gazing seriously down on her.  
  
"This changes nothing of your parting, Amoran." Legolas softly reminded her. "Without justifying reason, you shall still be left upon the path, as harsh as that sounds. You offered me a moment, and I am accepting just that."  
  
"I would not delude myself otherwise." Amoran whispered, her hands taking hold of his forearms as he still grasped her.  
  
"It is not that I do not care for you, Amoran . . ."  
  
"Hush." The woman let go her hold on him and placed unsteady fingers upon his lips and over his words. She gave a short laugh as her eyes rose from his lips to meet his bright own. "I never expected an admission of love, Legolas. I still don't. For I would not give you one in turn."  
  
"How pleasantly romantic."  
  
She smiled with another one of her laughs, "Is that what we have here? A romance?"  
  
In answer, Legolas curved an arm behind her shoulders and held her to him again, his lips whispering over her jaw before playing just beyond her mouth's reach. With a sound of indignation, she placed a hand at the base of his scalp and trailed warm kisses down his neck, before stopping to allow her ardent breath to tease his skin. She heard the passion sigh in his breath as a hand trailed down her back and, encouraged with the gesture, continued along his jaw till her cheek rested upon his strong shoulder and his hair softly tickled her skin.  
  
Legolas' pulse quickened as his hand trailed down this warm body pressed against his own. He felt her shiver at the touch near her spine and inhale in a shaky manner as his hand wandered lower. Her head rested against his shoulder, exhaling heated breath against his cool skin. Legolas lowered his cheek to rest upon her own as he acquainted himself with the body so willingly under his touch.  
  
He jumped slightly at hearing the woman gasp and pull herself from his arms. Legolas turned to see a squirrel scurry out of the bushes, twitch its nose at them with disapproval, then climb one of the trees with all due noise of nails against bark. He turned back to Amoran and saw she held a hand over her eyes, head hung.  
  
"I swear, for a moment I thought it to be . . ." She trailed off her words.  
  
"Whom?" Legolas questioned.  
  
Amoran rose her head, hand trailing down her face to rest against her breast. "Matters not."  
  
She moved back to him, trailing a hand from his belt up his chest and around his neck, the other joined it as she rose to place a kiss upon his lips. The pleasure of the moment enveloped him and too glad was he to respond in turn and open himself to her passion.  
  
It was then a surprise when he heard a growl and Amoran utter a sound of disgust. He pulled back from her lips and looked to her quizzically.  
  
"Ignore it." She mumbled, and he was obliged to do just so as she began to suck his lower lip.  
  
Her stomach growled again. Amoran mumbled something that could have been an order to pay no attention. Legolas thought that not difficult and tore his lips from Amoran to trail a searing path down her throat, lifting her upon her toes and against his chest to gain better access.  
  
With the third growl, he could ignore it no longer and he laughed gently against the soft flesh over her collarbone.  
  
Another growl, this time very much on purpose and from Amoran herself with appall.  
  
"Did you not eat, Amoran?" He asked. Checking his memory, he was quite sure that there was an abundance of food offered at the reception.  
  
"No." She admitted, avoiding his eyes. "My stomach was doing tricks, wondering on your words."  
  
"If I am at fault," Legolas took a hand from around his neck and folded its fingers with his own, "I shall make amends."  
  
He tried to pull her back upon the path they came but she pulled him back and huddled close to his body, her head raised and lips parted in a tempting matter.  
  
"No." She groaned. He humored her another chaste kiss before pulling her with him again.  
  
"Yes." He replied with a smile. Her hand tightened in his. "You are already tired, Amoran. I shall not add hunger on the list of offenses. And . . ." Legolas looked to her with a flirtatious smirk, "Food can be quite sensuous."  
  
"Mmm." She murmured, suddenly more willing to follow.  
  
* * *  
  
Starlight filtered through darkened leaves and boughs, falling as shafts of silver mist upon the burgundy flowers that carpeted the ground. A small path weaved through the blossoms to the steps of a staircase, left void of stain and ridden with ivy vines that climbed and covered the railing. The staircase led to a balcony of one of the guest suites.  
  
Upon the burgundy path appeared two figures, whispering softly to one another.  
  
Legolas lead Amoran by the hand swiftly down the path. She quickly followed in his steps; clutched in her other hand was a cloth filled with pilfered wild berries.  
  
He led her up two of the steps before turning and pinning her to the stone wall with his body. She laughed at his playful display but it quickly died into heated breath as he placed his lips upon the base of her throat. His hand gently shied away the fabric on her shoulder as his mouth progressed down her collarbone, his other hand gently placed below her left breast. Legolas placed a light kiss upon her shoulder as the fabric shifted down her arm, exposing a generous amount of flesh.  
  
The Elf smiled against her skin, his eyes rose and meet her own as she watched his ministrations. She felt a need for him grow with his own and wrapped a hand behind Legolas' neck, pulling him to her for a passionate kiss. No matter how tightly she held his firm form to her, he seemed too estranged; he could not be close enough.  
  
She murmured as much into his ear and he returned it with gentle, foreign words and a whispery kiss. Amoran felt him pulled from her with a moan as he clutched her hand and led her up the stairs to his chamber's balcony.  
  
He opened a door and parted the draperies with a hand, the other trailing down her spine, stopping at just below the small of her back and encouraging her into the room. Legolas followed, closing the door behind them and letting the draperies fall with a flourish.  
  
A strong fire burned in the large hearth. The room was grand and furnished in luscious, deep hues. It felt warm and safe, as a blanket on a cold winter morn.  
  
Legolas pulled the woman back into his arms as his attentions became more fevered. His hand began to play with her dress's bindings as her hands ridded him of the frustratingly heavy cloak.  
  
A throat was cleared across the room.  
  
Amoran's hands froze at his belt, the berries forgotten upon the floor, while Legolas' moved to hold her shoulders as he turned to glare at the intruder.  
  
Ardel stared back in an unusually sober manner.  
  
"Forgive the interruption." Ardel rose from one of the armchairs beside the hearth. He held a parchment in his hand. "I was sent by my father."  
  
"And what has warranted this?" Legolas asked, one of his hands rubbing gentle, soothing circles upon Amoran's back.  
  
Ardel held out the piece of parchment. Legolas recognized his family's seal upon it.  
  
"It arrived yesterday evening. He received one as well and thought it best to wait until after the reception." The Elf appeared saddened as he handed the letter to Legolas, who moved away from Amoran, as he broke the seal.  
  
The woman stood uncertainly as the room fell silent. Legolas' eyes scanned his father's script; a tightness coming to his face that had been lost some time in the night. Ardel's eyes avoided Legolas and strayed to Amoran a moment before falling to the floor in thought. She self-consciously pulled her dress back to cover her shoulder, as it had exposed a fair portion of bosom and shift.  
  
Both Amoran and Ardel cringed as Legolas crumpled the paper in his hand; the former for surprise and the latter built with expectation.  
  
Legolas walked past Ardel and sat upon the armchair that was just vacated. He straightened the paper he had crumpled and creased it once, then twice, folding it into a small square bit of parchment. He hid it away between the cushion and armrest to his side.  
  
Ardel and Amoran watched silently.  
  
Legolas placed his elbow upon the chair's armrest and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he leaned upon his hand.  
  
*Dear cousin . . .* Ardel took a step towards the other but stopped as Legolas spoke.  
  
*Please, Ardel, just go.*  
  
The other nodded once in understanding, gave a slight bow to Amoran, before he slipped out the chamber door.  
  
Amoran stood several moments in silence, her eyes sliding from Legolas to the floor to Legolas again. He gave neither movement nor word.  
  
She pushed a strand of hair that had been loosed in passion behind her ear. Amoran turned to leave where they had come.  
  
"Amoran." His voice softly called to her. She turned back to him and saw Legolas looking to her with such a sadness in his eyes that she took several steps towards him before he spoke again. "Do not leave. Please, do not leave me."  
  
He held a hand out to her and she swiftly crossed the remaining distance between them, falling to her knees before him and taking his hand in her own.  
  
"If you wish me to stay then I shall." She promised, placing a kiss upon their intertwined hands.  
  
Legolas extended a gentle hand to caress her cheek. The woman leaned into the warm gesture. She watched as his eyes strayed from her face to the fire.  
  
"She did not wait for me, Amoran. My mother could not find it in herself to linger for such a short time as we agreed." He spoke stiffly as if it took great control to utter the words. "I shall not see her again in Middle- earth." His eyes returned to Amoran, "I know I shall see her again in times to come . . . yet, I know not when and it serves merely to dull the feeling of abandonment." There was a moment of silence where the flames crackled and jumped in the hearth. "Who shall leave me next . . .?" Legolas' thoughts trailed off as his eyes turned back to the fire, finding solace there. "Simply stay with me."  
  
Amoran nodded and laid her cheek against his knee, their hands entwined in his lap, as she gazed upon him and saw the fire there.  
  
The visions of the moment blurred with dreams of the past as the sun rose from the east and the shadows bled into the west. Hours passed as the fire died within its stone walls. Legolas remained staring into the embers as his thoughts traveled far from implications of the present. Amoran lost the battle on sleep sometime in the night and as the Elf regained the reality of the moment, he found himself entranced by the slumbering woman before him, running a cooled hand down her heated cheek. Legolas placed a kiss upon her forehead before leaning back into the chair to rest, himself. Suddenly, a great weariness had come upon him.  
  
* * *  
  
Special thanks goes to Erewyn. I should have given her thanks in the last chapter but I did not. She has been a great help with both this chapter and the last and has suffered with grace my interrogations about her thoughts on the characters, story lines, and plot devices . . .and believe me, that is not an easy task. She continues to provide needed assistance, even though I forgot to give her much deserved recognition with my last update. Thanks, Erewyn, the story has been bettered with the help of your input and guidance!  
  
Note: Yes, I know Tolkien's view on Elves and sex. This is the one point where I shall knowingly depart from Tolkien's preference. I do not believe that to be in character for the Elves. They appear as such sensual creatures . . .and they deal neither with disease nor unwanted pregnancy. Tolkien's view (or should I say "later view"?) is that Elves abstained from sex till marriage (to the point that sex could even be considered the union of the two in matrimony - a rather biblical position.) This is not so with my work. This is not to be taken as a disrespect to Tolkien nor his views. It, plainly, is not so in this piece of fan fiction. 


	23. Sweetness Abandon

Note that the rating has upgraded to R.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Three: Sweetness Abandon  
  
* * *  
  
Upon the floor of Mirkwood, scurried no creature of good mention. Shadows crawled amongst the trunks of ancient trees, consuming all in its midst. Following the long trail of strong boughs and burdened branches, the moon fought the greater darkness, and won its way through the upper foliage, bathing many in its light.  
  
A line of lofty Elves danced over these branches, bows held expertly in a hand, the other held out, grasping into the night's cool air as the forest ceiling rose to their feet. A single Elf turned from the line, an arm signaling for the others to hurry before him. As the last Elf was consumed by the forest underfoot, Legolas willingly fell into the awaiting shadows.  
  
Another turned to Legolas, as he settled upon the branch, a hand delicately placed upon the rough bark in an almost caring gesture.  
  
*They are approaching from the southeast. Ardel's bows have already nigh decreased their numbers by half. He and his division are flanking them, driving them to our path.* Verhute paused a moment as an Elf broke through the leaves and placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. Disgust crossed Verhute's normally placid features.* Trees are burning! The Orcs have started fires!*  
  
*Where?* Legolas interrogated, his eyes searching as if to see the flames, none were visible in the blackness.  
  
*Little more than five leagues. The Orcs are scattering. Our plans are sundered. Ardel relinquishes command to you and requests orders, my lord.*  
  
*Send word to Ardel to no longer merely flank the remaining Orcs but take up their bows. Shoot any Orc in sight.* Legolas paused in thought a moment, *Where are Melstoe and his division?*  
  
*They are seven leagues from our position, northeast.* Verhute informed. *We are separated by the flames, but he is nearer to the gates.*  
  
Legolas pointed over Verhute's shoulder as he spoke, *There used to be several sister streams running and diverging several leagues from here. Do they still?*  
  
Verhute turned to the Elf who still remained, crouching beside him. The Elf nodded once.  
  
*Lead us there. Verhute send word to my uncle, that we need buckets; we'll need his manor emptied of them this night.* Legolas ordered and stood tall amongst his woods, the smell of ash reaching his senses, as his orders were carried out.  
  
* * *  
  
*Legolas!*  
  
At the sound of his cousin's voice, Legolas turned from the flames. Ardel approached in long strides, his façade bloodied. He held his long sword strongly in hand, bow upon his back.  
  
The dark recesses of Mirkwood were alit in flame this night. He heard the hacking of swords as the Elves hewed away at the wood nearest the flames, the hissing as soaked cloaks were thrown upon the fire.  
  
*The Orcs?* He questioned.  
  
Ardel gave a sigh and a tested smile before his eyes caught in the blaze and solemnity overtook him.  
  
*Slaughtered.* His cousin seemed to growl, *There could possibly remain a couple prevailing bands. I have taken the liberty of sending those I could spare after them. The fire is of the utmost importance of the moment.*  
  
Legolas nodded his concurrence.  
  
*There is little we can do until Melstoe arrives with the buckets.* Legolas began to speak his thoughts, caring little for Ardel's own while he watched the shadows of his people as they danced in an attempt to stifle the fire. Slowly it grew, and already it consumed his thoughts. *Though luck has crossed our path and streams diverge nigh, dampened cloaks and clothes serve little in the face of this heat.*  
  
*And hands and legs, dear cousin.* Ardel's eyes wandered to Legolas, his hand spasmodically clenching and unclenching about his sword's hilt. *Will we have enough? Good intentions and buckets do not quench flames' thirst. Fortunate we be that spring is about us and fall has yet to sip the fight of the leaves and branches of our friends.*  
  
Sparks spit into the night, in the form of fiery butterflies, they danced and hissed before darkening, as all did in Mirkwood, and settling upon the rocky ground, to be trod upon by the Elves in the fight to save their home.  
  
So bright, the flames were, so warm and so alive. They feasted upon the darkness and the death. They feasted upon the despair of the rotting Oaks and Ash, which Legolas remembered once growing strong and proud.  
  
His people were mere shadows fleeting amidst the greater blaze, their forms casting twisted shadows that somehow appeared more alive than they. The shadows bled to consume the earth, bled to reach out to him, entreating, grasping.  
  
Legolas took a step back from the shadows fading. Feeling the weight of a gaze upon him, his eyes tore from the threat and fell upon his cousin. Ardel looked to him with concern.  
  
Legolas felt his heart pause as the shadows cut across his cousin's sharp features. They had once been so bright and so true, now they appeared faded, the lines blurring with the shafts of firelight that surrounded him.  
  
*Unless my eyes do deceive me, I spy the form of Melstoe approaching.* Ardel's words roused him from his regarding.  
  
Legolas turned to see the proud warrior approach. This was Melstoe's element. The Elf feasted upon his duty. Legolas found himself unnerved with the thought.  
  
Melstoe's eyes surveyed the fire a moment, a flash of fury passing over his features, before sliding back to Legolas. In a few long strides, he was at Legolas' side.  
  
With a short nod, Legolas greeted him. Melstoe inclined his head and shoulders slightly.  
  
*My lord, I have dispatched those under my command to the sister streams. We brought all we could carry . . .*  
  
*Will that be enough?* Ardel questioned.  
  
It was unusual for Ardel to interrupt his elders. Melstoe knew this and he was surprised a moment for the intrusion. As a high-ranking member of the king's battalion, and on occasion serving as an advisor, Melstoe would not speak without need, without merit. Thus the intrusion was unwarranted. But Legolas and Melstoe knew Ardel's reasoning: he feared for his home. Ardel held few things to be always of concrete importance; Legolas could think of two. One of these was the safety of his home.  
  
*It is what we have at our disposal.* Legolas' mind barely regarded Melstoe's words. He found himself amused at the forced patience in the other's voice. The prince experienced a pang of sympathy for Melstoe's children. *We would have arrived sooner if we had not had to rid our path of a band of Orcs.*  
  
Ardel replied, of course. But Legolas found he cared little for what was said.  
  
The lights played bright in his eyes. He turned from the fires, seeking solace from the sounds and sights.  
  
His eyes fell upon a yet darker form.  
  
The flames placed a faux glow upon Amoran's skin, the dark burgundy of her dress, shimmering bloody in the light. Her hands gripped a large wooden bucket. Steps stumbling, water fell as a curtain over the rim, catching and breaking the light, weaving in and about her fingers.  
  
Amoran's eyes rose and found his own.  
  
Her steps halted, as his breath did the same.  
  
The lights surrounded him, their brightness leeching. Yet in her he found a darkness, fleeting, and at that moment desired to be consumed.  
  
*Legolas!* Melstoe called and he reluctantly drew a breath as he was pulled from the moment.  
  
*Yes?* Legolas asked more harshly than he meant.  
  
*The smoke has the power to burn as greatly as the flames. We must move.* Melstoe explained.  
  
Legolas' eyes remained upon the other for a moment, absorbing the words. He slowly gave a nod.  
  
He followed Ardel and Melstoe as the two joined Beredil and Belethil some yards away. Legolas' sight strayed as he searched out Amoran again.  
  
Elven maidens were slipping from between the trees, similar buckets in hand, the Elven lords coming forward and relieving them of their load before straying nearer the fire.  
  
Amoran was immersed in their mass, an Elf taking the bucket from her hands, yet her eyes remained upon him. She did not even turn as the water was taken from her grasp. She looked away a moment, her eyes confusion before returning to his own. She opened her mouth as if to speak, before abruptly turning, her eyes remaining upon him as long as possible as if both longing and scared. Swiftly, she turned and disappeared within the trees, taken from his sight.  
  
* * *  
  
The water was hot against his skin, nearly searing at first, but how quickly it cooled. Legolas rested his hand back against the metal of the large tub, hands out to his sides. A goblet half emptied of sweet nectar sat somewhere to his side.  
  
He could still hear the crackling and hissing of the flames.  
  
Legolas opened his eyes as he heard the door to his chambers do the same. Such heavy steps, she could never surprise upon him, but there was much he would never see coming. His eyes closed as he listened to her steps as they padded across the floor.  
  
There was a rustling of fabric, perhaps a cloak, as he imagined it settling about her feet.  
  
The door to the bathroom opened without a creak and she circled round behind him. He heard a metal ting as the goblet was lifted from the floor, the swish of the wine as it was moved out to his side. Without opening his eyes, he reached out, his hand grasping around her own, and lifted it to his lips.  
  
He slowly opened his eyes as he took a sip from the goblet, searching the woman's face. Amoran watched as he drank from the chalice they held, his warm hand wrapped securely about her own.  
  
Legolas gave a small laugh and she slipped her hand from his.  
  
He watched as understanding grew upon her features. With a smile, he switched the goblet hands and settled it to his other side, somewhere beside the tub; he really wasn't thirsty.  
  
"You heard me." She stated in a disappointed and also annoyed tone.  
  
"Yes." Legolas admitted, the smile growing upon his face. "Do not look so upset. Is it really that important?"  
  
She pressed her lips together, Legolas following the gesture.  
  
"I've never liked that; it's unnerving . . .the power of it and there's nothing I can do."  
  
Legolas chose not to reply, thinking himself safer with the choice. He sighed as he felt Amoran's cool hand caress his shoulder, her fingers pressing with gentle assistance over bone, sinew, and flesh.  
  
"You look . . ." Her words trailed as her hand did the same. Legolas felt as she moved to kneel behind the tub, her mouth to his ear. He listened as he could hear her breath. " . . .how should I describe you?"  
  
Amoran's other hand came to rest against his neck, rubbing small circles just behind his ear, as her voice took on a playful tone.  
  
"Any ideas?" She didn't wait for him to answer. "No? Well, how about . . .proud, haughty, egotistical, annoying, vexing, irksome . . ."  
  
The statement ended in a squeal as Legolas rose to his knees, the water complaining at the commotion. Another rather amusing squeak and grunt found the woman in the tub, upon her back, Legolas kneeling between her knees, his hands supporting himself to the sides.  
  
A devious smirk found its way to his lips as he saw that it had not been her cloak but her dress. Her shift was nigh transparent in the bath water.  
  
Slowly one of his hands slipped into the water, causing as little a disturbance as possible. He watched Amoran's face as she followed the gesture, her breath quickening. It came to rest beside her waist. Her heat felt invitingly warm beneath him, and he felt the need to touch her, to consume her, engulf him. With the first as support, the other moved from the side, tentatively reaching out to her face.  
  
He moved to place a kiss upon her lips, but hesitated, not knowing why.  
  
Amoran reached out and folded her arms about his neck. Legolas moved forward again, his body gently lowering to her own as he placed a reverent kiss upon her lips. Finding a hunger there, his hand moved lower, as he rose to her again.  
  
Her knees bent to his sides, rising to meet his questing touch. The flesh of her thigh reigned a strange power over him as it brushed and pressed against his bare flesh.  
  
The chaste kisses fed the fire and a great passion grew within them.  
  
Finding the pace too swift, Legolas pulled back, Amoran objecting by closing her knees to his sides, entreating him back to her. He smiled and ran a finger the length of her jaw. Her face was flushed with passion, lips parted, taking little gasps as he remained just beyond her reach to grasp him, touch him, to consume him.  
  
"Why would you say such things?" He whispered against her lips. Amoran regarded him a moment. Seemingly arriving at the conclusion that he was not going to move, or allow her to, anytime soon, she grew exasperated.  
  
"There is true Evil." Amoran growled, "And it has pointed ears."  
  
He laughed and rewarded her with another small kiss, lingering a moment as he played with the possibilities of her lower lip. As he pulled back, Amoran laughed as well.  
  
With a sigh, he lowered his cheek to rest upon her breast, his face towards her own. Her heart beat rapidly beneath him. She became serious as she looked down upon him; her knee gently began to move, caressing his hip. Amoran moaned softly below him, as she closed her eyes, allowing her head to rest back against the tub's surface.  
  
That mere action caused Legolas' desire to grow, the inaction to become unbearable.  
  
Finding the position suddenly very uncomfortable, Legolas moved one of his knees under his body, lifting his form from the metal surface, nearer her own.  
  
"Do not listen to my words, Legolas." The woman breathed, her lips seeking out his collarbone, tongue flickering out a moment to tease his heated flesh.  
  
"What would you have me listen to then, Amoran?" Legolas asked breathlessly, his hand roaming beneath him, over the softness of her curves. His palm traced over her hip bone, coming to rest upon the gentle curve of her stomach, his thumb venturing lower to caress the fall of her pelvis.  
  
She pulled her face back from him, her eyes searching out his own. Her arms tightened, lifting herself from the tub surface to press her breast against his own, lips a breath apart. He felt his mouth part as her words played upon them, felt himself tense in expectation.  
  
"My actions." Amoran pressed her lips against his own with such fervor, a hunger, as she seemed to fight her way with him, releasing for moments to take short breathes. Legolas took the opportunity to lower his other hand, pushing her knee up further, allowing him to touch her flesh more fully, to grow closer to her, their breaths coming swiftly as one.  
  
"Your actions speak loudly." He murmured as his hand gripped her thigh, the other moving down the length of her body.  
  
The soft, thin fabric of the shift rose to his touch and he nearly growled at the intrusion. Amoran fidgeted beneath him, her hands grasping him tightly. His mouth teased her shoulder, fingers grasping and searching.  
  
"Move." Amoran ordered, pushing back his shoulders.  
  
Legolas paused and pulled away swiftly, afraid that he might have hurt her.  
  
The woman pushed up into a sitting position before rising to her knees, her chest rose and fell swiftly in heated breath, near his own. She rose her arms above her head and Legolas understood.  
  
His hands gripped her waist as he pressed her body against his own, tongue and teeth teasing lips and chin. Amoran's hands fell and gripped his shoulders as his own slid down hips and around the back. Amoran moaned at his insistent touch, pressing against her with a need she never expected from him, that he never expected to have for her.  
  
Legolas grinned as his hands slipped below the shift. Amoran tightened her grasp upon him, urging him to continue. Slowly he gathered the thin fabric in his hands and rose it to her waist, his palms sliding over her thighs, fingers curved and teasing, then stopped.  
  
She looked down between their bodies for a moment, watching as his hands held the fabric about her waist, as he knelt nude before her, his desire obvious for her. Amoran's eyes rose to his questioningly. Legolas felt a sly mood come upon him; as if sensing this, Amoran raised an eyebrow, wondering if more frustration lay in her future or a delicious pleasure.  
  
"Lay back." Legolas ordered. Her brow fell as she complied, never taking her eyes from his, the water pooling about her breasts.  
  
Legolas released the fabric, allowing it to settle about her, as a hand ventured to draw invisible signs upon her inner thighs, the other resting about her neck. Amoran hissed in a breath as her hands gripped his back, nails gently biting.  
  
"You smell of ash." Amoran murmured, her face cradled upon his shoulder, his hair falling about them.  
  
Legolas paid no attention to this for a moment as his thumb caressed her jaw, and his other hand caressed between their bodies, cognitive thought slow and unimportant in that moment.  
  
But then a thought came upon him.  
  
"Amoran?"  
  
"Mmm?"  
  
His hands were more fevered in their motions, rising and falling with her breaths, tracing and pressing as he saw fit.  
  
"Why did you run?"  
  
Her hands loosened upon his back.  
  
"When?" She mumbled breathlessly against his skin, teeth grazing upon his collarbone.  
  
"The fire."  
  
Amoran was silent. He felt as her heart pulsed between them, her breath unsteady, his hands never stilling.  
  
"'Tis no importance." She stated, gasping, a hand straying from his back to run down his chest and join him below. "Pay it no mind."  
  
At her touch, his hands stilled.  
  
It wasn't until later that he realized that that had been no true answer.  
  
Legolas gave a nod as he moved back to rest upon her, rising to meet her lips, falling as she gripped him and whispered and moaned into his flesh. Amoran's hands were insistent upon him, grasping and caressing. Her ankles moved to rest behind his knees, entreating him to push closer still.  
  
"Legolas." Amoran purred, her hands running the length of his chest, twisting to grip his back, pulling him to her, her body tensing about him.  
  
"Stay with me." He murmured into her ear, his teeth catching upon the lobe and gently pulling, while his body pushed her against the hard metal of the tub, his hands gripping her waist.  
  
He lifted from her a moment to watch as she closed her eyes, head pressed back, her delicious neck exposed. Rising to her again, pressing her body firmly to his own, Legolas' mouth trailed down the dewy flesh.  
  
Legolas rose a hand from her waist to press the shift down from her shoulders, serving little to cover her in the moment, twisting about her arms, falling about her breasts. He pulled back from her to allow his lips to wander lower, her breath catching at the cool contact, before he swiftly with a determined strength moved back, lips whispering over her flesh nonsensically as he returned to look into her eyes.  
  
They were shut tightly. He could not tell as they were surrounded by water, but he thought he saw a tear stream down her face. With a ragged sigh, he moved forward lips tasting of the salty sign, her eyes opened to look into his own and Legolas knew he saw a salacious pain there, his own or hers he was yet unable to tell.  
  
His attentions became more insistent, more demanding, as he felt the need to pull her from that pain, to take and immerse in her himself, feeding her with his passion, drawing on her own. The moment was all that mattered as he drowned them in it, hoping he'd be able to find his way out.  
  
He heard Amoran whimper and gasp below him, as she responded to his touch, and he followed her own.  
  
Amoran stilled, Legolas moving to pull back, withdrawing to grant her space. Instead, she grasped, her eyes stilling him. Her hands wandered under the water and gripped the edge of her shift. His hands took from her own, one sliding to reach her back, urging her forward.  
  
The fabric slapped upon the stone and a clatter and rush followed as the goblet fell, its scarlet contents bleeding into her shift and thinning in the pools about them, consequence to their earlier choice and actions.  
  
His heart stilled a moment before returning to its ardent motion, before he turned back to Amoran, lowering his cheek to rest upon her breast.  
  
"Never leave me." He murmured against her flesh. Amoran's eyes widened as she looked down upon him. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but closed with no breath to say. Legolas nodded, noting the gesture, before placing a revering kiss upon her breast, his eyes slowly closing at the feeling of her beneath him.  
  
"You think you know me." Her breath caught, "I wish I knew you."  
  
Legolas' eyes moved to meet her own. She rose a shaky hand to his face, followed by trembling lips that he wished to ever cover him.  
  
He pulled his face back from the woman.  
  
"Never, Amoran." He restated, before his lips caught hers again, not allowing her further thought, for his desire was all that mattered for the moment.  
  
* * *  
  
Note: Thanks to Erewyn again for her help. Without her, the last scene would have been much shorter, so the depth of the scene is owed to her. This is a short chapter but I plan on updating within the next couple days. I actually only started actually writing this yesterday, I wrote a couple paragraphs a couple days before, not really working on it. During that time, I wrote a twenty page Harry Potter fic, Snape based, for my mother's birthday. It's a very dark story and was a refreshing write that gave me a small needed hiatus from this story, though I love it so. I should have that fic posted to FF soon, as well as an Earth: Final Conflict story. I hope to update soon. 


	24. Under Covers Hidden

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Four: Under Covers Hidden  
  
* * *  
  
Soft morning light filtered through the elaborate windows, scattering upon the wooden floor. The fire had dwindled and passed hours before. Its defining presence, lingering scent, still filled the air, easing the senses.  
  
Amoran opened her eyes slowly, adjusting to the light and cool morning air. The sheets were soft against her bare skin, yet still and rough compared to the touches her body now judged all by. She sighed and bit her lip, closing her eyes as she remembered gentle, insistent touches enveloping her, consuming her, filling and renewing her. The mere thought was exhilarating.  
  
Her eyes lowered at a suspicious weight strewn across her stomach, gently cupping her breast. She smiled a moment at the protective gesture. Amoran dared not turn to spy the face, part of her afraid of what she would find.  
  
Yet, these were not the furnishings of some nameless inn in some nameless village. Beneath her was not a worn cloak, rock, and dirt. And this was not the hand of some passing merchant, enchanting scoundrel, or drunken and wanting landlord.  
  
Where was she?  
  
An Elven home, in an Elven bed, with an Elven prince bared beside her, willingly.  
  
Her mind screamed at her that this was not right, while her heart soared and fluttered at his presence beside her.  
  
She closed her eyes as she felt the heat of the fire. Amoran remembered the flames, yet it was not they she fled, it was yet that of passion's burning. It was his eyes, she remembered, the way they claimed her.  
  
Amoran had seen many emotions in the eyes of men over her years; carnal desire, anger, bloodlust, hate, hurt . . . and a lack of feeling that truly chilled the soul. There was nothing Amoran had ever been made to witness more unsettling than the vision of a man peaked in the height of ecstasy yet his eyes shimmering as dull as that of a beaten dog.  
  
Legolas' bore none of these.  
  
If they had, perhaps she would have understood and embraced that, felt secure in its familiarity.  
  
Part of her wished to open her eyes and meet the dull reality of a hay filled mattress, cooled blankets reeking of a lifetime of enduring passionate tumbles, with a handful of coins where her lover had been. That she would have understood. Amoran would have known what to do.  
  
There was an intensity in Legolas that she feared for she had not known it, did not know where it would leave her. In that moment, Amoran was all he saw, all he cared for, that is what she read in his eyes and the depth of that devotion stirred her in all she had grown to accept.  
  
She would survive this, that she knew. For Legolas would not leave her empty-handed upon that road. He was far too giving, never knowing what it was to starve, to feel true hunger, it was easy to be so.  
  
"Why do you fret so?"  
  
Amoran tensed at his voice, whispered beside her ear. The gentle, deep tone of his voice, husky from lack of use, caused the skin upon her neck to chill to his warmth. She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it swiftly, finding nothing to say.  
  
"Amoran?" His hand that until that time had gently cupped her breast fell from its grasp to support him over her. Legolas' hair fell forward, much of it held from his eyes, swept behind his ears. He looked to her with concern, as her eyes rested upon the strength of his chest, visually tracing the gentle fall and rise of muscle, flesh, and bone.  
  
She rose her eyes to his and smiled, before covering her mouth with a hand, the other pointing towards a decanter a short distance away.  
  
"Ah." He voiced, as he rested back against the headboard, watching as she rose from the bed.  
  
The sheets, once wrapped around her body, fell upon the floor as she walked across the room. Her bare feet slapped against the floor.  
  
She felt a chill run up her nude body from the cool wood beneath her feet. This morning, she took no pleasure in the feeling. Her body screamed for her to return it to the warmth of their bed.  
  
No, it was Legolas' bed.  
  
Amoran's hand closed around the cut crystal of the decanter, so cold to her flesh. Why did all in that room feel so icy beneath her heated touch?  
  
She took a long draught from a small crystal glass as she felt the heat of Legolas' eyes upon her. Amoran paused a moment, before daring to look over her shoulder.  
  
He watched her, sheets leisurely strewn about his lithe form, a knee raised, supporting an arm as he chewed on a finger in thought.  
  
Amoran quickly crossed the room, glass in hand, and slid between the sheets he held parted for her.  
  
"We missed breakfast." Amoran remarked, passing her glass to Legolas' awaiting hand.  
  
Legolas emptied the glass with one gulp.  
  
"So we have." He murmured, rolling the glass between his hands. She watched the movement, pulling the sheets about her waist, effectively stripping Legolas in the process, he was seemingly uncaring.  
  
"Would you wish to walk the gardens with Ardel this eve?" The tone of Legolas' voice caused Amoran to raise her brow.  
  
"Has it all ready been arranged?" She asked, fretting with the bed covers between her fingers.  
  
He only smiled.  
  
"Shall you be there?" She looked anywhere but to Legolas. Amoran hated the neediness in her voice.  
  
Amoran had become accustomed to being along, drawing strength from her lack of dependence. Her self would never act against her, never leave her. For she was all of concern.  
  
Yet, she was a breathing creature, her heart still beat warm within her breast; Amoran desired company, desired another. She had merely become numb to the loneliness.  
  
She heard a murmuring before a warmth grew across her face. Legolas' hand caressed her check, gently lifting her eyes to meet his.  
  
"Do you?" He asked, and she merely nodded, avoiding his gaze.  
  
"If your face mirrors the thoughts behind it, such a dark place your mind be." His thumb gently caressed her chin, lingering over her lips a moment.  
  
"Legolas," She finally rose her eyes to his, "what do you see in me?"  
  
His fingers stilled upon her face. She placed her hand over his. Legolas' palm felt so warm, so alive, upon her.  
  
"I see a strength." He said, his eyes studying her hand upon his. "I see a passion that I have seen burn out too soon in the eyes of others. There is a life in you that we, for all our millennia," Legolas ran his fingers over her forehead, tracing the lines dusted there, "have forgotten."  
  
"How grand I sound seen from your eyes." She whispered, crawling forward until her hands rested on either side of his shoulders, her face looming a mere breath from his own. Amoran could smell the nectar upon him.  
  
The glass was abandoned somewhere to the side, hidden amongst bedclothes and down pillows.  
  
"Are you not going to ask?" Amoran lowered her breast against his own. The feel of his skin against hers was exciting. She lowered herself to rest her chin upon his breastbone.  
  
"I have learned," Legolas moved his chin to rest a short distance from her own, "not to ask a question that's answer I might wish not to hear."  
  
"You think so little of yourself?" She asked, her fingers brushing strands of hair that fanned across his shoulder, gently lowering her lips to his skin.  
  
"Mayhap." His eyes followed her movements as she trailed her lips just above his bare flesh, causing his skin to shiver in anticipation, "Or mayhap I know exactly my worth."  
  
"I have never had as generous a lover as you. If I hold a passion, from you it stems." Her lips brushed him gently, a ghost of a nip coaxing a small gasp of breath from his lips.  
  
"And who am I to be compared to?" His hands caressed her back, running the length of her naked spine.  
  
Amoran placed a tender kiss on the middle of his chest before lowering her cheek to rest against the strength of his skin beneath her.  
  
"It is wise," She ran a hand, fingers spread and whispery, the length of his body, "to not ask a question when the answer is known . . .and unwanted."  
  
Legolas hummed his agreement, fingers gently tracing the length of a pale scare marring the flow of her skin.  
  
"Over time, our scars slowly fade, leaving no evidence of the violence of our lives." He murmured, searching her body for further flaws.  
  
"No evidence that you have ever lived." Amoran mumbled into his skin, thinking little for her words.  
  
"If they did not heal, we would be riddled with the burden of the past for an eternity, ever a parchment scarred with the tales of times passed."  
  
Amoran rose her face from his chest. She watched her hand as she trailed a finger the length of his neck to rest upon the hollow between ear and jaw.  
  
"You already do, for those truly daring to see." Amoran smiled kindly on him. He smiled in return distractedly, his hand gently petting her back.  
  
"But," She sighed, her fingers tracing the length of his jaw, "it is who you are. It is an important part of what it is to be an Elf. It is not wise to deny who you are and the life you must live."  
  
"I do not." He insisted, "The wearies, the horrors and the glories of the past define me. Through them I find strength, find the reality of the now. The day I am lost to my past, I am lost to present, and then shall come my time to fade."  
  
"I cannot imagine to ever lose myself. At all times, I am fully aware of who I am. I know none better than I do myself. She and I are the dearest of friends. Of her I am ever certain." Amoran examined her index finger as it ran the length of his nose. She thought it strange how pale her skin was amidst his own, how dull.  
  
"Is that so?" Legolas murmured, seeking no answer.  
  
"Can you think of any to work in your best interests better than yourself?" She questioned, her hand brushing the cool skin of his perfect brow.  
  
"Yes." He answered simply. At her disbelieving gaze, Legolas continued, "At times, one's view can be fogged by perspective and one's interests are best served by yielding to the wisdom of another."  
  
"Do you know of what I think when another touches me there?"  
  
Legolas' hands paused; one hand tangled in her hair, wild and unrestrained, the other tracing a scar low on her back, faded and thin, running the rise of her derrière.  
  
"I think of when I locked my brother in a chest, hoping its owner, a shady man traveling with a woman and old ass that liked to bite, would take him away.  
  
"My mother had me run to a small creek flowing just behind Old Man Croaky's poultry coop, and tear a small branch from one of the trees there.  
  
"She beat me with it until my face was red from my screaming and my arse numb to the strikes. She told me it was for my own good. I was a rascal, a deviant, and if she had to beat it out of me, she would. Deviants ended upon the rusty sword of wicked men; deviant women blessed if that be the only thing they ended upon. Rascals ended like Old Man Croaky, pathetic and unpleasant and abandoned by all decent folk.  
  
"All the good it did me." Amoran paused a moment, her fingers trailing his collarbone. "Well, I suppose it did . . . I remembered to gag the brat next time."  
  
Legolas' hands paused upon Amoran, unsure of what to say, if anything at all.  
  
Amoran rose her eyes back to his, "I really was a wicked girl. I pity my brother's wife, lest her children bear my spirit . . .I feel Jasphine shall, she having more of me in her than the others."  
  
Her voice trailed a moment, before her eyes followed suit, finding great interest in the headboard behind Legolas.  
  
"Some would think her to be my own." She barely whispered. He felt the need to comfort the woman, protectively wrapping his arms around her, lowering his chin to rest atop her head.  
  
"Do you regret your lack of children?" The words melted together as he was unable to move his jaw.  
  
Amoran rose a sardonic brow at the thought, raising the bridge of her nose to rest beneath his chin, breathing in the scent that was so uniquely his own.  
  
"No." Her grip upon his shoulders tightened, pushing her body as closely upon his own as she could manage, seeking to envelope his warmth, fill herself with it, "And I never shall."  
  
* * *  
  
Shadows warped and stretched as the day grew old, time's passing a periphery presence. The day's light was faltering once Amoran pulled herself from the cover of Legolas' bed and slinked her way back to the chambers set aside for her alone.  
  
Beautiful night fell upon the passing day. Its light filtered through the thick canopy of boughs. Graceful figures of slender, ancient Elves weaved through the various gardens or aloft the rope bridges, fine linen garments whipping against their bodies as a severe breeze bit through the air and surrounding foliage, flooding over the walls that usually kept the conditions placid.  
  
Legolas rested his head back against the smooth bark of the grand tree, its roots sprouted above ground, creating effective armrests. He always felt secure in its embrace, beneath the comfort of its strong branches.  
  
Legolas tensed slightly at the gentle fall of a foot to his side.  
  
*Time passes so swiftly,* Legolas turned to the presence to his side with his words spoken, *when wishes it otherwise. Eternity I find promising to be little more than nothing, once lived.*  
  
Verhute moved to stand before Legolas. A grand cloak was draped upon his broad shoulders, clasped to conceal the body beneath.  
  
*Once living it, perhaps insignificant moments may seem, but with mind in our past we find ourselves wanting.*  
  
Legolas thought on Verhute's words, knowing the meaning there. He found a great sadness and fear at the thought.  
  
*Appreciation comes when those warranting have passed.* Legolas leaned upon a raised knee. *That is the way of things, and once realization of that truth is made, happy one can be in the longing's past, find comfort in the constant. Yet, where be I when the truth is broken, constant convulsed in the now? Wanting while having; what satisfaction lay in that?*  
  
*As great as you would allow yourself.* Verhute found the conversation to be rather distressing, his brow creased in thought, eyes worrying upon Legolas.  
  
*No matter how greatly I try, the world seems unwilling to bend to my will. In your words, I find doubt.* Legolas rested his eyes, closing them to the world. He focused solely on the feel of the earth beneath, the wind enveloping, the tree's caressing; ghosts of the night, he felt.  
  
*As do I.* He heard Verhute's words whispered, so low he doubted Amoran would have been able to decipher it as anything more than a lovely hum.  
  
Legolas' eyes opened, surprised to hear uncertainty in Verhute's voice. He thought a moment of addressing the enigma, but decided for naught.  
  
*Is it done?*  
  
Verhute appeared relieved at the change of topic. A smile even hinted upon his face.  
  
*Yes.*  
  
*I look forward to witnessing Ardel's reaction as soon as he realizes . . .* Legolas could not help the impish grin that spread across his face. *He has been flaunting his genius, seeing our actions before their time. Ardel shall be made to understand he makes a poor seer.*  
  
*If I remember correctly, my lord,* Verhute began and Legolas knew the recollection to follow, *He has proved you an equally poor soothsayer on more than one occasion.*  
  
*I have never been so easy a puppet to play.* Legolas all but grumbled, pleased to have Verhute return to his role as all knowing.  
  
*By whom?*  
  
Legolas chose to abstain an answer and twist his brow in mock irritation. Verhute laughed.  
  
*How shall Amoran fair when all falls into place?*  
  
Legolas' face eased into a more pleased and contented expression, *I shall be there to cool any tempers, calm any nerves.*  
  
*I thought you to be keeping your distance this eve, play the innocent, as you do so well.* It was not so much of a statement as a question. Though his tone suggested great interest, Verhute rose his face to bask in the dying rays of the sun, closing his eyes to its warmth.  
  
*I thought to, as well.* Legolas stretched his legs leisurely, his ears almost hearing the tree beside inviting for a climb. To the heights, it promised, to taste of the sweet dusk alongside its sun-kissed leaves; touch the sky, sing to the stars. Legolas brought his thoughts back to the moment with a pat to the root beside him in consideration, *I know my feigned innocence should only serve to irritate and aggravate Ardel further. And I know that at that moment of revelation, I shall not be able to hide my truth further than I can hide my face. Yet, Amoran asked such of me.*  
  
*Ardel shall not be the most . . .irritated.* Verhute said, face ever embracing the dying light.  
  
*As he is not the most assured of himself.* Legolas pushed from the ground, rising to his feet. He stood tall, though not as grand as his elder. *I find an element of myself a fool for tempting my uncle's infamous temper.*  
  
*Let him his space.* Verhute offered, fighting a flinch at the memory of his last encounter with that temper, the scar still fading.  
  
Legolas sobered in his thoughts, sharing a knowing glance with Verhute.  
  
*Perhaps I should find Amoran, lest Ardel chooses to alter our plans. I fear how she would fair under uncle's wrath alone, and what could spill forth from her mind to tongue.*  
  
He quickly began to pass Verhute, his feet quickened by continually worsening possibilities. Legolas stopped a moment to pat the other upon the shoulder, a smile in appreciation of companionship shared.  
  
*Should I hear screams . . .*  
  
Legolas laughed at the other's words, though knowing them to be only partially offered in jest, before swiftly departing in a search for his lover.  
  
* * *  
  
"It has occurred to me that I know nothing of your family, Amoran. How did you come to our king's halls? How does Thranduil know your father? He was rather vague in his letter proceeding."  
  
Amoran's hand tightened momentarily upon the crook of Ardel's arm as he spoke. Her eyes widened as she searched her mind to remember who her father was. He smiled kindly upon her as his inquiry was met with silence.  
  
"Amoran, are you ill?"  
  
She swallowed reflexively, her hand smoothing the fabric that had wrinkled under her touch. Amoran took a long breath, her eyes straying to the beauty about them.  
  
Legolas had discussed little to nothing on the subject of her presence, as if her presence was distraction enough.  
  
"No, no . . ." Amoran assured in her most regal voice. She did not notice the slight twitch of the other's cheek, as he repressed a smile. "'Tis merely a long story, one of which tires me to relive."  
  
"You forget that I am an Elf . . ."  
  
"How could I?" Amoran interrupted in a whisper though Ardel heard her most clearly. He chose to continue as if she said nothing.  
  
"And we delight in lengthy tales."  
  
Amoran fought a frown.  
  
"You must forgive me the details of locations and times, as I've never had a mind for such things." She forced a smile upon her face.  
  
Ardel extended a hand in a show of a small rocky path, biting through stone, ivy finding and possessing the smallest of flaws and making them its own.  
  
"Of course, I understand. I am assured that you shall remember all of import."  
  
"Yes, yes. Tell me, Ardel, new friend that has wormed his way deep into my heart," That appeared to have caught Ardel's attention, as he bent his head to her words, a brow raised in question, "Shall you share my words with your father, the Lord Brilthor?"  
  
"If my lord and father asks such of me, who am I to deny?"  
  
The vines hung low over their heads, the stone creating a private archway that hugged upon them, and Amoran found herself slightly short of breath.  
  
"Such a loyal son you be, but in you I also see a kind lord who would not harm a lady's honor needlessly. I request merely discretion, the rest I place in your capable hands."  
  
Amoran stopped their progress by placing a hand upon his shoulder in an intimate, and what she hoped to be a confiding, gesture.  
  
"May I trust in you, Ardel?" She asked in her most desperate of tones. Her voice faltered upon his name.  
  
He placed his hand over hers, his thumb linguring lightly below her wrist.  
  
"Ever you may. I may be many things, but disloyal is not amongst them." His thumb slipped between flesh and cloth, caressing her wrist she now realized to be ever betraying her. Amoran pulled her hand from his, as if burned again.  
  
"Yes . . ." She murmured. "That be part of my tale."  
  
Her mind focused on hazy light beyond the stone, vines limply impressing upon her escape.  
  
"May we sit?"  
  
Ardel nodded and led her from the small cave of a tunnel. They walked upon dirt and stone, the light failing about them, leaving twilight in its midst.  
  
She was left to her silence and thoughts, as Ardel led them ever closer to a series of verandas. Where they met and became one, Ardel stopped, the sudden gesture waking Amoran from her lonely thoughts.  
  
Her heart beat frantically within her breast, as she took a seat offered to her beneath the arched ceiling, etched from stone.  
  
Amoran's eyes stole upon a figure centered before them. The stone was a dark gray, shimmering swirls of lighter hues, glittering of gold. Carved upon the marble podium were various Elven runes, meaningless to her Man- eyes. Upon this podium sat a box, for lack of better word, though small crypt would have sufficed in Amoran's mind. How beautiful it was to the woman. How sturdy, how strong. It was a craft of no Man's making.  
  
"Perhaps you should start at the beginning ." Ardel offered, taking a seat beside her upon the stone bench.  
  
"Yes, I believe I shall."  
  
Amoran cleared her throat and mind. She turned her eyes to Ardel as she began, knowing inexperienced liars avoided such things.  
  
"I was born an odd child to a beautiful mother and an honorable father, each to their gift concerned. I have ever been plain of face and received my mother's grief in turn. I was their only child and in me, their hopes were born, or perhaps sundered.  
  
"My mother concerned herself with the house's pretty things, herself included. My father asked little more of her as it became evident no heir was forthcoming. I was abandoned for years to my nurse: her word, my world. She spoke to me of a greater life beyond walls.  
  
"In my fourteenth summer, I ran from those walls. What a foolish girl I proved to be.  
  
"I took to the nearest village, its where from here I can not say. I became so hungry, so cold, and was spurned as a beggar. The second night, I stole from an Elf's bag outside the tavern. His horse spooked and I was horrified. The Elf appeared from no where . . ."  
  
The woman extended her wrist to his inspection.  
  
"He burnt this upon me.  
  
"My father's men happened upon me in tears, cradling this horrible wound. I shall spare you the specifics of my father's wrath. You can understand that the rune ruined any chances of true social standing I might have claimed.  
  
"I was returned to a new nurse's care, a prisoner within my father's house, while he searched to wed me with newfound zeal."  
  
She sighed dramatically, a hand rising to her temple as her eyes fell to her lap.  
  
"I was betrothed the next year to a man still married.  
  
"He was ten years my father's senior. His second wife had taken ill, little older than myself. She was deathly pale, a living corpse, so was said. They said she had no will to live with the promise of bed for crypt, lover for father.  
  
"I feared her parting to be the sentencing of my own fate.  
  
"Years passed and she failed to fade, lingering upon the edge of death's fall. Over those years, I came to fancy a young servant in my father's stables.  
  
"I convinced my father to have me tutored in riding. The young stableman became my teacher.  
  
"I learned how to seat properly, to balance my weight upon a galloping beast, making its body's movement my own," Amoran took a breath and hazarded a glance at Ardel. His brow was raised at her words, his cool eyes in disbelief, whether in response to her actions or words she could not tell. He appeared as a child with such an expression painted upon his face, causing her to smile. It was not exactly the right response to this sad tale she was weaving. She cleared her throat, hoping he'd take the momentary slip as a blissful remembrance of her lessons, "before we became lovers, and I learned little more of the horses.  
  
"You see, I thought myself to be in love. I thought him to be my only chance at living, before I wed a corpse.  
  
"I became quite obsessed with my lessons.  
  
"And then my womanly cycle abandoned me.  
  
"My nurse, loyal she be to her loving lord, informed my father. Not something a man would wish moaned into his ear, I would think. Either way, furious he became, naturally.  
  
"I never saw the stableman again, and my marriage was hurried, waiting not for his dear wife's passing.  
  
"My father was desperate for the child's appearance of legitimacy. I think the old man knew, but being so desperate for an heir in his age, cared little.  
  
"As fate would have it, our dear husband took ill prior to the wedding, the service held with him upon a chair and weak as an infant, and shortly he became the one to fade and embrace his grave at last . . . never having the strength to bed me, however short. One night, in any bed, that is all that would have been needed. He could have slumbered for all I cared, but no, never did we share a bed, even a room, and this bit of information spread through the servants and was soon quite publicly known.  
  
"Miraculously, my sister of a wife found the will to live. She requested an annulment of my marriage to her husband and, never being consummated, it was made so. She became the mistress of his manor, and all his belongings. I was sent to my father with nothing but the dress upon my back, and child within my belly."  
  
Amoran paused a moment, quite pleased with her tale. It was familiar to her tongue as it was a mixture of rumors and gossip overheard over her years from tavern to tavern. Ladies appeared to be little more than peasants in pretty gowns. She gave another glance towards Ardel.  
  
He appeared to be contemplating her words. Did he actually believe her? It appeared so. Amoran rejoiced within herself. She continued with a new self- confidence.  
  
"I do not know how my father knows Thranduil. Never have I truly spoken with the man, beyond muttering apologies. He had no choice, you see, no matter how swiftly I married, the child would be born far too soon. He could hide me within the house but there would be talk, and he so hated such things.  
  
"So he devised to send me to the Elves. He made a grand affair of my departure, many joining us for our last dinner, constantly voicing how I was to learn of the Elven ways, mourn the loss of a husband in the bosom of the first born, become beautiful through them. I saw many men's eyes alight with desire that night.  
  
"I was sent to the Halls of King Thranduil to bear the child, he could always rid of it later. Or perhaps claim its sire an Elf. There would be little dishonor there. Many would seek to marry me, gain the child, and perhaps use its blood to later advantage."  
  
"What of the child?"  
  
Amoran startled at his voice. She had become so pleased with the completion of her tale that she had begun to rearrange the fall of her skirt. Her eyes rose to Ardel. She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say.  
  
"It . . .I . . .You see . . ." She closed her mouth and took a breath, "Dead."  
  
"Understandably, she does not delight in the tale."  
  
Amoran jumped at the sound of Legolas' voice. He walked solemnly towards her, to rest a hand upon her shoulder. She shared a smile with him, a fulfillment in his presence that she did not notice missing.  
  
"Shame on you, Ardel, with forcing it from her. No more shall be said on this." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "She is left wanting no more pain. You can understand that."  
  
"Indeed, I can." Ardel acquiesced, his eyes lingering upon Amoran for a moment.  
  
Did he believe her, she wondered?  
  
No, she thought not.  
  
But did he think her story to be the lie that it was?  
  
No.  
  
If anything, she had confused the Elf, and that was as much as she could have hoped for. Amoran covered Legolas' hand upon her shoulder with one of her own, allowing a gentle smile to grace her face as she looked up to him, looming so grand beside her. Legolas granted her a personal glance as well, not so apparent as her smile, but in it carrying more depth than her gesture could ever have hoped to contain. His eyes spoke poignantly to her again, reminding her of the fire, yet this was no time to run, and at that moment she saw no reason to.  
  
* * *  
  
Ardel looked about their surroundings as if just noticing their whereabouts.  
  
"Ah, I see we have already omitted to the end of our walk."  
  
Legolas sparred his cousin a berating, if not surprised, glance. "So you did."  
  
"Oh, do not fuss so. We would have waited for you." Ardel assured with a smile that spoke otherwise.  
  
He rose from the bench and took Amoran's hand, helping her to rise as well. Amoran looked to Legolas, but he motioned with his eyes for her to pay mind to Ardel. Amoran did as she was told.  
  
"Legolas has spoken with you concerning Oropher's sword, Thalmellon, Amoran?"  
  
"No, he hasn't." She responded, with as much truth in her voice as she could summon. Ardel turned on her, still holding her hand as he guided her towards the pedestal.  
  
"Odd." He noted, eyes sliding to Legolas a moment, before returning to Amoran with an amused countenance. "My dear cousin has said otherwise."  
  
"Oh . . .Oh!" Amoran glanced to Legolas over her shoulder, widening her eyes at her falter. He shrugged, folding his arms over his chest, apparently pleased to merely observe. She turned back to Ardel. "Oropher's sword, of course."  
  
Amoran would not fool herself into thinking she could read Elven expressions at all times, but she was sure Ardel was near laughter.  
  
"Yes, he has told me." She stated as evenly as possible.  
  
Ardel nodded, swallowing his amusement. He motioned to the grand piece before them with a hand, the other still quite firmly clasping hers.  
  
"This is where we keep the sword."  
  
"When it is here." Legolas murmured. Ardel spared him a knowing, and challenging, glance, before returning his eyes to Amoran.  
  
"We have had some trouble with it being pilfered, you see." He looked again to Legolas while stressing his coming words, "And it always seems to find its way back to our dear king's halls."  
  
"And then somehow here." Legolas replied softly, moving to stand behind the bench.  
  
"A sword that travels! How extraordinary!" Amoran piped, finding herself excited to be in the presence of this artifact that her life had been so based on for the last seasons. Her mind was already working on the possibilities of filching it.  
  
There were no guards, she could just go out for a midnight walk . . . but where would she hide it? A lady walking around with the former king's sword in a pocket is not necessarily the most inconspicuous of sights.  
  
Perhaps if she wore a big gown . . . Or maybe convinced Legolas to come along, or any male Elf, to think of it, and she could switch their own sword for the king's. Yes, perhaps that would work.  
  
She would need to distract them so they would not become suspicious of her tampering around their belt, but that would not be difficult if she dedicated herself to it.  
  
"Would you like to see it?" Ardel asked, his hand already lingering upon a latch she had not noticed.  
  
"Oh yes, if you please."  
  
Ardel smiled, and undid the latch easily with one hand, the other still firmly clasping her own. A side of the stone box opened, falling down lightly upon its grand pedestal from well-maintained hinges. Inside lay red silk.  
  
Ardel paused a moment.  
  
Amoran wondered if something were wrong.  
  
Her hand fell as the Elf released it.  
  
He turned to Legolas, folding arms over chest as well. Amoran looked between them. If she had not been so confused, she would have laughed at the mirror images they lent to the other. Two Wood Elves, arms crossed, staring across the small room to each other.  
  
"It is gone."  
  
Amoran gasped. She was the only one to do so.  
  
"How can this be?" Legolas asked, no true disbelief in his voice. He crossed the room quickly to inspect the pedestal. The Elven prince bent, a hand disturbing the silk. He stood, straightening his tunic. "You should inform Lord Brilthor."  
  
Amoran chose to inspect the silk lining herself. How could this be? This was not right. Why was Legolas not upset? She turned back to him with a firm stare. What did he do?  
  
"I cannot. You must. I shall escort Lady Amoran back to her chambers." Ardel reached for her arm, seeming quite inclined to leave as soon as possible.  
  
"No need, I shall. You should be the one to inform your lord." Legolas took Amoran's other arm, and she felt quite stuck between the two of them. Strangely, an image of a rope over a pulley came to mind.  
  
"She is our guest." Ardel tried, though Amoran could tell he knew he had already lost this battle.  
  
"But as so was our king's first, and as the king being my father . . ."  
  
Ardel reluctantly released Amoran at Legolas' show of rank. He grudgingly turned to leave, his feet weighted to the ground as if fighting against some unseen force. He looked a soldier marching to certain death.  
  
"Why must I always inform Brilthor?" She heard him mumble.  
  
"For I must always inform Thranduil." Legolas returned too cheerfully.  
  
"Shall we?" He asked, lacing her arm through his before escorting her down the path she had come. It was some time later that she closed her mouth, finding it had been left ajar for so long her jaw had begun to tire.  
  
* * *  
  
Amoran soon found herself within the familiar setting of the chambers that had been set aside for her. The bed was unmade, draped in a soft off-white comforter, draperies in dark burgundy hues, matching the armchairs. She stood for quite some time, before the foot of her bed, the fire lit by some considerate other.  
  
Her feet began to hurt.  
  
She had absolutely no idea what was happening. Legolas must have taken the sword; that could be the only explanation. But why had she not been told?  
  
This was the whole meaning behind her presence, and yet it proved not.  
  
Out of everything, her agreement was the one point that ever held true in her mind, unwavering. Yet it even proved to be not as it seemed.  
  
It hurt to think.  
  
Amoran moved to her bed, running her hand lightly over the covers. They were so soft, so clean, so unused.  
  
What was to happen now?  
  
She decided that the blissful ignorance of sleep would be delightful at the moment and reached behind her gown to undo the lacings.  
  
A knock came upon the door.  
  
Amoran retied her gown, before suspiciously approaching the door. She opened it slightly, enough to view those outside.  
  
There stood Ithillian with two companions, unknown.  
  
"Good evening, my lady. May we enter?" Ithillian asked politely.  
  
Amoran nodded, opening the door wide enough for the three to pass through. His two companions gave her a brief nod, paying her no word, before each turned to separate areas of her chamber; one searching her bed, throwing back the mattress, the other disappearing into her bathroom.  
  
Ithillian stood beside her.  
  
"Lord Brilthor has ordered a search of every room for Oropher's sword." He explained before she could ask.  
  
"This is ridiculous. They shall find nothing in here." She stated as much to him as to the others.  
  
"Of course they shall not, my lady." Ithillian agreed with casual certainty. "But they must search all the same."  
  
Amoran sighed, only wishing at that moment for solitude if she were not to find truth to her questions. But solitude appeared to have been stolen from her. One was even ruffling through her garments at that moment. Of course, he was being gracious enough to return them to their proper state.  
  
She could not stay here. Amoran turned to Ithillian, opening her mouth to ask.  
  
"Would you wish me to take you to Legolas?" He asked, anticipating her thoughts.  
  
She nodded as gratefully as she could. Ithillian smiled and Amoran knew that had been the reason he had come all along. Suddenly, she felt as a puppet being played. But she was yet unsure by whom.  
  
* * *  
  
The door leading into Legolas' chambers was open upon their arrival, the sounds and light dancing out into the hall. Amoran heard Legolas' voice, mingling with another's, as Ithillian ushered her into the familiar chamber.  
  
Her lover sat upon an armchair beside the roaring hearth. He held a goblet in hand, a decanter beside him upon a small ornate table, another goblet waiting.  
  
"Good evening, Amoran." Legolas greeted warmly, standing at her arrival. He inclined his head slightly to her escort. "Thank you, Ithillian."  
  
Ithillian nodded before swiftly exiting the room.  
  
Amoran believed to have found her master puppeteer.  
  
"Sit, if you will." Legolas indicated the plush armchair opposite him. She took a seat, accepting a goblet from him without word.  
  
Amoran's eyes stole upon the sound two other Elves were making in the room, shuffling of papers, fall of books. They appeared less hurried as they had been in her chamber.  
  
Legolas spoke a moment to one of the Elves, catching their attention with softly spoken words. The other rose one of the books in his hands in question. Legolas nodded. The Elf quickly crossed the room and handed the book to Legolas.  
  
"What . . ." Amoran murmured, eyes questioning.  
  
Legolas smiled, "I had misplaced this."  
  
Amoran nodded as if that explained everything.  
  
"They dare to search your chamber as well?" She asked, shifting uncomfortably as something bit through her skirts and into her thigh.  
  
"Of course. No mattress shall be left unturned, no drawer left unopened. There shall be no chamber left untouched," A devious smirk crossed Legolas lips as he chose to indulge in his wine, "save Brilthor and his son's."  
  
Amoran could not see the humor in his words.  
  
There was a loud clatter from outside and down the hall. Amoran could hear a strong voice, Elven in its origin, firmly casting about what sounded as orders. There was a crash, sounding precious and glass in its derivation.  
  
All the Elves in the room froze wherever and in whatever position they had been, quite resembling deer caught in the hunter's sight.  
  
Legolas stood quickly, handing his goblet to Amoran without thought. He swiftly spoke to the others in the room, hand upon the door, other motioning for their outing. They left quickly, leaving all as it had been, if not more tidy than when Amoran had last seen it. Legolas firmly closed the door; the crashing and clanging dulled with the entrapment.  
  
"He's angry." Amoran said, knowing it to be a grand statement of obvious truth.  
  
Legolas nodded, "Ai, Elbereth."  
  
"I thought you said this was a game." Amoran reminded as Legolas took the goblet from her hands, choosing to stand before the fire, his eyes warily sliding to the door with a new crashing.  
  
"It is." He confirmed. "Yet my uncle has never taken kindly to being bested. And he has a fiery temper. There is reason behind his naming, Glittering Torrent."  
  
Amoran squirmed, the biting upon her thigh becoming more than uncomfortable and unacceptable. She sent a hand between the chair and herself, searching betwixt cushion and armrest, finding the assailant.  
  
Amoran pulled the piece of paper from the chair's depths with satisfaction won through a perfectly timed retort to an enemy. Her eyes widened as she remembered its origins. She looked to Legolas, hoping he had not noticed the motion, the letter.  
  
He looked back to her with solemnity. Before she could speak, he turned from her, back to her and the letter, before seating himself opposing her again.  
  
Finding she had no right to hide the piece of letter away into the chair's depths again, she placed it upon her lap, hand gently placed upon it, hiding it from his view. Legolas' body noticeably eased.  
  
"Plan to tell me your master plan? Or should I say, "Plan to tell me your plans, master?"" Amoran asked in a teasing voice, leaning forward in a conspiring manner.  
  
Legolas seemed amused with her words.  
  
"Are you upset with me? Angry that I did not tell you?" He sounded almost teasing, but Amoran felt that his concern was true.  
  
"No." She sighed, cringing as she heard another far distant, sharp voice outside the chamber. If she heard such, Amoran wondered with what clarity Legolas overheard their surroundings. "There was never any pledge of honesty, or forthcoming. It is not as if I do not have my secrets kept. The question be, shall you trust in me now?"  
  
"You have merely to ask, dear woman." Legolas answered, a satisfaction about him.  
  
Amoran took no notice of the endearment.  
  
"Where is Oropher's sword?" She asked, finding an excitement in his new game.  
  
"In a chamber none shall search." He replied cryptically.  
  
Amoran frowned, "But you said they shall search everywhere."  
  
Legolas held up a hand, "No. I said that there would be no room left untouched save those of . . ."  
  
He paused, watching as Amoran's mind worked his meaning.  
  
"Those of the Lord Brilthor and his son."  
  
Legolas appeared pleased with her remembrance.  
  
"But in which chamber does the sword find its hiding, Legolas?"  
  
"I would never insult my uncle so greatly as to hide Thalmellon in his own chamber." Legolas answered, playing with the goblet between his hands as Amoran was want to do.  
  
"'Tis in Ardel's chambers?" Amoran asked, surprise lacing the words. Legolas nodded. "Ardel stole the sword? I cannot believe that!"  
  
"And it is good that you do not, as he has no idea it is there." He informed with a thrilled manner about him.  
  
"Then who did?" Amoran said, if possible more confused than she had been to begin with.  
  
"Verhute." Legolas answered simply.  
  
"No . . ." She mumbled, tending to disbelieve the quiet, respectful Elf would ever do such a thing.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Verhute stole the sword?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And had the audacity to hide it in Ardel's chambers?"  
  
"No."  
  
Amoran shook her head, finding herself confused. Verhute had stole the sword, yet had not put it in Ardel's room, and Ardel had no idea that it was there. This must have been a brilliant plan for it was confusing her to the point of headache.  
  
"You placed the sword there?"  
  
Legolas smiled and shook his head in a negative gesture, taking a long sip from his goblet. He was purposefully being mystifying.  
  
"Care to tell me who did?" Amoran's voice was only slightly annoyed.  
  
"Ithillian." He answered simply.  
  
"Ithillian . . .naturally." She mumbled to herself. " Verhute stole the sword," Amoran paused waiting for any interruptions, "and Ithillian hid it," she paused again, yet again no interruption, "In Ardel's own chambers, no less."  
  
"Beneath his bed." Legolas added.  
  
"Of course." Amoran responded, meant as sarcasm but sounding genuine. "And where do I play in this, pray tell?"  
  
"You were the distraction." He told her with a smile. "They were so sure of themselves, they did not pay attention to any else. Verhute stole the sword in day's brightest light, but they were more concerned with the woman sent by my father and what were Thranduil's motives."  
  
Amoran became silent, contemplating the happening that had occurred about her without knowing.  
  
"Nothing was kept from you with intent of malice, Amoran. Forgive me this?" His words startled her as she had become swept away in her own thoughts.  
  
"Aye." She mumbled before smiling, rising from the chair, and discarding the letter upon the cushion vacated. Amoran approached him, leaning over and placing her freed hand upon his chair's armrest. Legolas leaned back as Amoran hovered before him, her neckline appearing much more scandalous from his new viewpoint. She placed her goblet aside, never having taken a sip from its golden depths. Amoran stole the goblet from Legolas' grasps, and rose it to her lips. She paused, raising an eyebrow to the Elf below her. Legolas watched her movements with intensity and she felt a desirability flame within her, a power unquenchable, and Men so delighted in power. Amoran took a greedy draught from his chalice, as she was to move the gold from her lips, she felt Legolas' fingers lift the base, tipping it further. She downed the whole of its remaining contents before licking her lips and setting it aside by her own.  
  
Amoran stood, watching as a hint of disappointment shinned in Legolas' eyes, before rising her skirts and straddling his waist. His hands greedily tightened upon her hips, hers rising to his shoulders, one pushing his chin to the side so Amoran could whisper into his ear.  
  
"Surely I shall forgive you, though I believe you shall have to . . .kiss and make amends."  
  
Legolas turned, freeing his jaw from her hand and stole her mouth into a passionate kiss, hands insistent upon her. Amoran returned the heat with vigor and zeal, hands slipping to take hold upon his scalp, allowing herself to be consumed by him and in turn be renewed by him. Unlike times passed, through him she felt cleansed, instead of dirtied.  
  
Amoran felt his capable hands as they found creative means of bypassing her skirt and traveling the length of her thighs.  
  
Both were short of breath as they surfaced from the ardent kiss. Amoran placed another chaste kiss upon his lips as she coerced his head back, the better to look deep into his bright eyes, the better to sip of him. A thought came to her as she looked down upon him, inappropriate as it be.  
  
"Legolas, why does Ithillian have access to Ardel's bed?"  
  
* * *  
  
Note to all: I hope that you enjoyed that chapter and I'd love it if you would drop a review and let me know you read it and what you thought. I have moved the rating down to PG-13 as the majority of the story does not exceed that. I shall merely leave a warning at every chapter that may have R-rated material.  
  
I'd really recommend you all to go look up a story written by Sunlit Rain entitled The Black Stream. It is an excellent read and I really enjoy it. It is original and entertaining, as well as being well written.  
  
I'd also like that those of you familiar with the Harry Potter Fandom would check out my story Fear the Fire Does Sow. I'm really happy with the fic. 


	25. The Color of the Sky

* * * 

Chapter Twenty-Five: The Color of the Sky 

* * *

Two days passed, a quiet silence falling upon the manor. Elves trod lightly over matters of their lord, who had taken to his quarters since the end of the first night. His chambers would speak loudly through its silence; grumblings easily overheard at times if one would happen upon the doors. Its silence spoke its loudest as Ardel would approach the same doors, wringing his hands and speaking to the surrounding Elves in a desperate yet resigned attempt at delaying the inevitable. With a breath, he entered and soon the silence ended. 

Quiet again reigned as the Elf swiftly retreated through the doors, allowing those near to close them, carefully as to not annoy in the act. 

Amoran knew only of this through Legolas, his tone speaking of pity and understanding, though hinted with haughty amusement. For one who had so tempted Lord Brilthor's wrath, formidable it appeared through her understanding, he seemed oddly like a child proud of his latest caper. How he knew of this, she understood not, in a way she thought him omniscient, easier that way, and thus this a small feat. 

Two days, Amoran and Legolas spent within his chambers avoiding the perhaps chance encounters, speaking to the other as if they were of old acquaintances, friends, and of course lovers. Their words were spoken often with passion, for the other, for their thoughts, for their ideals . . . for life, unto itself, speaking neither of its beginnings nor endings. 

During this time, Amoran heard Legolas truly laugh and smile, not with irony, sadness, or shallow amusement, but with genuine light, and felt herself blessed at that moment, as none were there to steal it from her. 

He was beautiful. She had thought this many times, in her mind, in her heart; through night and light of day, the thought rang true. Not only his body pleased her, but his mind, his own heart . . .for they were more precious than his corporal excellence, shared by all his kind in relative degrees. Legolas was all that she could wish for, all that could fulfill her. He fell just short of perfection and in that grew in grandeur, an image made greater through his faults, withstanding ever through. 

At times, she merely watched him, when he was enthralled in the elsewhere, and thought how he was everything that anyone in her place could wish for. Amoran took no action to this end, there was no decision that had brought her to that crossway, but once she was there, she had known that she was left wanting, and that fathered a fear within her. And she found, not quite then but shortly down that path, that he had been left wanting as well, and that fed her fear. It was that she could not understand, not comprehend, that she feared, for in those shadows bred doubt.

Turning blindness to her own fault, familiar in its betrayal of her could-be's, she counted herself twice blessed . . .for something beyond her mortal words or even understanding. But blessings were not eternal for mortals, this she knew with quiet certainty, and found herself wary of its end but reveling in its now.

* * *

Amoran cut through the grove of trees. 

Her dress caught upon the underbrush, and she turned back to free herself with a huff. The woman's breath came quickly, her side aching from the trial. The sun shone brightly, cutting through the blanket of clouds and forest ceiling to dapple upon the rich earth and wild flowers. Though the air felt temperate to the cooled, unimpassioned touch, Amoran felt her skin grow clammy. 

Her heart beat so furiously that she feared it would weary and quit upon her. Amoran's eyes searched the surrounding trees as she tugged insistently upon her skirts, cursing her luck, cursing the trees, cursing Legolas. 

She cursed plainly for the joy of it as her dress tore, refusing to let loose its grip. 

"Such a fiery tongue beneath the façade of an otherwise placid woman."

Amoran jumped at the voice from over her shoulder. She peered back to see Legolas looking equal parts entertained and smug. The woman growled, fighting the impending smile, giving another half-hearted tug to her entrapped garment, hardly expecting it to let loose its grip. 

She turned fully to face the Elf, his chest looming near her own, Amoran cringed at the small sound of a further rip. A familiar comfort came with his closeness. "You know full well of my fiery tongue and I don't believe I've ever presented myself as a placid woman . . .to you." She watched as he bent and freed her from the greedy fingers of the underbrush, his eyes amused at her words.

"This will not do." Legolas looked upon the torn hem with disapproval, running his thumb over the fabric as he held it for inspection.

"'Tis merely a tear." Amoran murmured, beginning to cross her arms, before remembering the gown to be a gift from the Elven King of those woods, his father. She slapped Legolas' shoulder. He looked to where she hit him with confusion that morphed into amusement. "The gown is utterly ruined! If only I hadn't given in to your play! Elven games never end well, if they end at all, and one always finds oneself stripped of any suitable garments."

"And what experience have you with Elven games?" Legolas laughed, backtracking to stand in the middle of the small clearing. 

"You." She smiled, following him with hands behind her back, a flirtatious air about her. Amoran stood a short distance before him, both pleased to look back at the other for a silent moment, eyes daring. 

"You are merely pride-sore for I always win." Legolas teased, rounding the woman as he spoke. 

"Just you wait, Legolas. One of these days, I shall surprise you and you shall be left wondering who be victor. For who could ever claim your title? Just you wait, Legolas." Amoran teased while she turned rather jerkily, her eyes searching to settle upon the ever-moving form of the Elf. He was eternally a shadow, fleeting from the fringes of her vision.

Her eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his voice whispering in the tongue of his people, his breath hot upon her flesh, the words strange and beautiful. 

She felt a light touch flutter down the fall of her spine. Amoran turned and opened her eyes swiftly, grasping into the air for someone not there. Her eyes told her none had ever stood thus. Dirt undisturbed, air still about her, she knew he to ever be near. 

Amoran shook, suppressing a jumping yelp, as she felt a tap upon her shoulder. 

Legolas stood smugly behind her, hands clasped behind his back.

"Cease!" Amoran objected, slightly out of breath, fearing how long an immortal could amuse himself with such a game.

Legolas obeyed with a soft chuckle, taking instead into sitting upon the grassy earth, a grace not fitting to the movement within her mind. Amoran echoed it best she could, but found herself terribly lacking.

Silence reigned, and Amoran thought nothing of it, thankful for the opportunity for her excited breath to settle. The grass was not dewy, as the morning's glistening had faded away into nothingness with the day's aging. Amoran had the desire to uproot the leathery blades, merely to feel them pull back upon her. The woman threw the patch aside as she spotted the dirty browned roots, finding no more enjoyment in the pieces. Unconsciously, she repeated the act. 

The weight of bright eyes upon her woke her from her thoughts, the hand she did not realize was supporting her chin from upon one of her folded knees falling aside. Amoran turned to meet Legolas eyes, and found them fixed upon her uprooting gesture, one of his own hands paused amidst the graces in what could have been a pet. She released her grip upon the blades, bringing it to rest within her lap. 

His gaze lightened, a smile upon his lips. Amoran knew herself forgived for the grass's disruption. A small eccentricity of his, not wishing to see the living things about him unnecessarily pained. She understood and thought it a little thing to avoid, but old habits died hard.

Amoran dusted the remaining blades of grass from her skirt, and crawled the short distance, his eyes ever sidelong upon her, towards him. A very unladylike movement, she was sure, but cared not at all, as she again settled herself to his side. 

She reached out and deftly plucked his hand from upon his knee, turning it palm side up and taking it to close inspection. 

For some time, Legolas watched her in silence, watching as she traced the light crease across his palm. 

"Trust me your other hand." She toned the order into a question and he naturally did so. Amoran dropped the former, Legolas resting it upon her knee, as she took to examining the new. 

Finally, Legolas' curiosity demanded to be abated. "Fancy to lend me your thoughts?"

Amoran seemed to awake from her intense thought upon his palms. She looked to him, to the palm, then back to him again, a slight stunned look upon her face. A look of amusement took its place. 

"My sister used to tell me that one could see their future within the palm of their hand." At his look that she must have taken for disbelief, Amoran continued, "It's actually rather simple.

"You see," She placed his palm down on the hand resting upon her knee, taking up her own as to show him. Amoran pointed to various creases and lines sketched upon her palm as she spoke, "See, this tells of what I believe in life and how my mind progresses with my age. And this one, the short little line, speaks of the love in my life," She quickly hastened on, "There's supposed to be little lines here if I marry. Apparently, I shall not. When I was little I used to hope that with time, a little line would grow, but none have." Amoran sighed. "This one speaks of my fate. I've never had a long one. It's always stopped halfway down my palm. But in any matter, this is the line," She pointed to a large arc, "that interested me. You see, it's the life line. I've always had a very long one, longer than my sister's to her annoyance.

"But look at your palm." 

He did so and found himself rather unsurprised. 

"You don't possess one." 

He placed his hands behind him to lean back in a leisurely gesture. "No, I do not." 

"I merely thought it interesting, that is all. I never believed in destiny being in the palm of one's hand." She paused, and stretched her legs out, taking a casual air that echoed his own, tinted with carefully hidden amusement. "Otherwise, you are to marry three times, and be blessed with five children."

Suddenly he raised his hand to glance furtively upon its palm. 

Amoran laughed and Legolas let his hand fall back, his eyes squinted menacingly, focused upon her, only causing the woman to laugh further. Finally, he could not help but sigh and watch as she laid back upon the grass, stretching languidly, rising her arms to play harmlessly with the grasses above her head. 

Legolas watched the steady rise and fall of the expanse of her clothed belly as she breathed. How entrancing he found these small movements, her subtle trust. He watched as her legs moved beneath the soft blue of her skirt, ridding herself of the soft shoes. She stretched her toes with a hum. 

"Legolas?" 

He found himself echoing her satisfied hum as he watched her eyes flutter open, then closed again.

"What if everything were eternal? If this moment," She paused and rolled onto her stomach, her left side bumping into his folded knees, her eyes extended out before her as her hands did the same, "stretched forever?" 

Legolas thought a moment to answer, but none came. 

"What then?" Amoran's eyes sought out his own, a childish thought within her eyes and biting her lip for a moment in an endearing gesture, "Would we still be left wanting? Or would perfection reign and we all find peace in its constant? Would . . .would everything be right and plain?"

"Tell me, Amoran, can you imagine eternity?" Legolas asked, truly seeking an answer. 

"No." She answered without thought.

"Then how could you live it?" 

Again she worried her lip. 

"I would think it quite boring." Amoran spoke after a silence, beginning to pluck at the grasses again. She stopped with an effort and spoke almost in a whisper, "I wish not to live forever," Amoran turned and bent to look at him, one arm supported upon the earth, her tone sure, "yet neither do I wish to die." 

"Perhaps that be why you wish for a lingering moment, in stead of eternity, for it is neither an end nor a forever. It is not a choice and that is why you wish it."  

Amoran nodded absently and he wondered if she had truly listened to his words. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

"How splendid when a moment, sweet it be, turn into an eternity." The woman murmured, as if repeating a chant long imprinted upon her tongue. "It was from a nursery rhyme I once overheard. I cannot remember the rest. I remember it was quite beautiful but ended sadly." 

"How strange it be when eternity into sweet moments turn." She heard him call back.

"I find . . ." Amoran rose her face to near Legolas' own, noses nearly touching, eyes peering deep within the other. "I care nothing for eternity." 

"If only I had such luxury." Legolas' eyes bore such depth, such intensity, foreign to Men that Amoran felt possessed and consumed by them. 

"You have many others to leave those less-fortunate unwanting." The woman pushed back to sit beside him. He could feel the heat and weight of the excess skirt draped across his knee, exposing a generous amount of her own. She coyly acted as if she were unknowing to this fact. 

Legolas paused in thought to her words. 

"Tell me, Amoran, what color is the sky?" He asked offhandedly, gently examining the subtle embroidery upon her dress's hem. 

Amoran blinked, unsure of what he was truly asking. What a silly question, he knew as well as she. 

"Blue." The woman answered slowly, wary of hidden meaning. 

"Amoran, how can you be sure?" Legolas halted, eyes searching the boughs above. "You never looked skyward."

"Yes, I did." 

Legolas shook his head negatively, watching her face as it twisted with thought.

"Didn't I?" Amoran stole her eyes away from his own to search the sky above, and realized that none was visible through the sun-kissed leaves. "But it is. It must be." 

The woman looked to Legolas expectantly. When he appeared unwilling to utter further words, Amoran took it upon herself to speak into the silence. 

"Why do you ask?"

Legolas' eyes sought out her own, clouded with thought. "I wished to know the color of the sky." 

Amoran sat silently a moment, her eyes downcast, not truly seeing. Legolas watched, following the movement of her mouth as she sucked upon the lower lip, her brow creased. Suddenly her eyes shifted and caught his sidelong. For a breath's time, he had no idea what she was to do and his body tensed in expectation. 

She jumped to her feet. He kept a firm hold upon her skirt's hem. 

"Start that now and I shall leave you thus," Her eyes lewdly followed the line of his body, leaving him feeling exposed in a completely refreshing manner, "wanting in your thoughts. Lest you forget, time and I are not the best of friends, constantly trying to outrun the other. Cannot you see the line of suitors behind you, begging for my attentions, just waiting? I have not forever!" 

Legolas did not find her words as humorous as Amoran apparently did. They hit upon sensitive nerves, strung tightly over the past nights, wound through his circular thoughts. He dropped the piece of fabric and looked away from her. 

She shivered at the cold gesture.

Amoran looked to him silently, catching her breath, and realized that she had stumbled upon a surprising and sensitive line. But what had that line been? She was left unsure, and decided it best to avoid all that she had said. Amoran began to laugh, slowly retreating around his form, her eyes ever upon him, searching out his own. 

 She twirled, letting the skirts flare about her, hands above her head, with a safe energy, one that always seemed to please him. 

The woman stilled, her breath slightly hitched from the twirl, her hands swinging to her sides. "Where were we?" 

Amoran watched as the cold within his eyes softened into desire, finding a newfound comfort in its familiarity. Legolas smiled as he watched her slowly faux a retreat. With a last playful leer, Amoran turned, a power running through her, wondering if she possessed the strength to loose him, to run beyond his grasp. No sooner had the thought come upon her that it was stolen and lost into unimportance, his hands upon her waist stilling her breath, quickening her frenzied heart. 

Their passion was blinding, bearing a weight Amoran feared her wanting body unable to contain. Her mind numbed to the sensations, feeling yet not comprehending. She felt as if she were drowning, breath ever left wanting, heart hastened into desperation, and sense lost, or forgotten, with need. Were these feelings desirable? 

"Oh, yes." She sighed into his grasps. 

But there was ever a shrewd fear lingering, the fear that she would break. Could such a blind fervor last, the question persisted? No . . .but neither would she. 

* * *


	26. May Thy Ways Be Green and Golden

Special Thanks to Silmarien1 for helping me with this chapter!  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Six: May Thy Ways Be Green and Golden  
  
* * *  
  
Wind whispered, Elves sang, the ground was hard below, the sky shattered above through the cover of trees. Day was darkening, moon rising. Spring made its sweet influence known through the tempered chill, welcoming in its warmth to the well dressed. Elves seemed as blurs of fine and beautiful fabrics as they walked slowly from one place to another.  
  
Sweet smells traveled upon the breeze. Somewhere, a harp played gently, a soft plucking of sounds. Several tables were set beneath a canopy of leaves and blooming vines, their blossoms fading from cherry-red to azure, quite reminiscent of a burning sky.  
  
Many Elves were clustered a short distance from the low tables, speaking softly to each other, their words a melody in their own right.  
  
Legolas stood within one of these clusters, speaking between Mirawen and Verhute, Ardel absently making comment when directly spoken to. Amoran was no where within sight, but Legolas had no reservations that she would not soon arrive. Yet, it did not keep his eyes from rising in a swift search, his ears aware to sounds of footsteps approaching.  
  
*We do not age, we do not wither,* Mirawen murmured to herself as she was wont to do, *Yet, the air draws still within me. The world grows dim. Blessed be the blind as they are unawares to the fadings about them.*  
  
*But never did they enjoy the brightness, made more evident in its dimming. Never did they fully appreciate the beauty of that about them. They feel no pain in its loss, for they feel no joy in its time.* Legolas whispered, finding himself unusually moved and conflicted by her words and constant pains.  
  
*Such a blessing . . .* Mirawen appeared to not have heard his words, lost again within her musings.  
  
*The wisdom in the turn not taken is never appreciated until the choice has passed.* Verhute added, his eyes worrying upon Mirawen.  
  
Ardel spoke naught, his eyes elsewhere.  
  
*Yes, and what use is one's frettings when there is no going back, there is no second choice?* Legolas asked, perhaps more harshly than was due.  
  
Both Mirawen and Ardel seemed unmoved and unawares to his words.  
  
*It serves as comfort, Legolas.* Verhute gently reminded.  
  
*It serves as torture.* Legolas corrected.  
  
Legolas' eyes stole upon the familiar form of Amoran as she entered the clearing. Beside her walked Brilthor, his hands held firmly behind his back. She had to take two or three steps for every one of his long strides, and the Elven Lord seemed singularly unwilling to pace himself for her sake. He spoke in undertone and Amoran nodded her head.  
  
Legolas smiled. She looked downright petrified.  
  
There was a soft murmuring that passed through the Elves at the arrival of their lord. Amoran's eyes immediately sought out his own. As their gazes met, Legolas offered her a smile, no thought going into the gesture. Amoran returned it with her own, filled with relief. She slightly gestured to Brilthor, who was speaking to another Elf to the side, and made a face, a choking noise included. Legolas chuckled as Brilthor turned and Amoran's choking commentary morphed into a fit of coughs.  
  
*Ah, my lord has arrived and we may sit,* Ardel seemed to awake from his thoughts, a hand displayed to the low tables, a tension behind his general good nature.  
  
Brilthor was the first to sit. The tables were no more than a foot off the ground, their legs little but stumps. Legolas sat beside Lord Brilthor, Ardel sitting to the other. Amoran took some time to properly gather her skirts and comfortably sit upon the grass-covered earth. As she looked up, Legolas watched a shadow pass over her eyes as she realized that she sat directly across from Brilthor, who was at that moment serving her a hardly veiled glare.  
  
Meats, berries, and breads were bountifully displayed before them on platters of silver. The meal passed with relative ease. Soon, words were comfortably exchanged. Amoran seemed pleasantly amused to observe the bickering of Beredil, Belethil, and Ithillian, all of who sat a short distance down the table. Apparently, Belethil refused to pass a basket of bread rolls until his brother properly apologized for an earlier transgression, Ithillian serving as reason and go-between. Amoran lost track of the conversation as the Elves began to snidely exchange veiled threats and teasings in their mother tongue.  
  
"Amoran," Brilthor spoke and several among the table grew silent. He had not spoken a word since the beginning of the meal, satisfied with curt nods and dignified grunts to any attempt at conversation. Amoran froze at the sound of her name, a piece of venison near to her mouth, which was left a small 'o' at that moment. She slowly lowered the utensil to the plate, closing her mouth with evident conscious thought.  
  
"Yes, my lord?" Her voice slightly shook.  
  
Brilthor grasped his goblet firmly, rising it to his lips, holding the table, and Amoran, to attention as they awaited his continuance. Legolas watched as Amoran shifted uncomfortably. Brilthor appeared far too pleased in Legolas' opinion as he settled the goblet within his hands.  
  
"I found myself wondering, are you wedded among your people?" His words were blunt, appearing to have no desire for courtesy or frill.  
  
"N-no, my lord, I am not." She responded quickly. Her next words were obviously uttered before thought, "Why do you ask?"  
  
"I know many who are unwedded. You appear quite taken with several of my fellows, those close to myself and my brother included. I was left unknowing to why your father, a lord I am told, would send you into the care of the Mirkwood Elves, why my brother would ever welcome a Man-child within his halls." Brilthor's eyes were firm upon Amoran and she stilled as a frightened girl beneath his stony gaze.  
  
"I wished to be assured that you were not disillusioned to believe that a binding of any reputable sort would arise from friendships made." He leaned his head to the side slightly, considering her coldly, "I do hope that you came to my brother's realm with a more meaningful purpose, my lady."  
  
Amoran's eyes were settled upon the goblet in the lord's hands; it slightly glimmered in the dying light. She hid her hands beneath the table, but not before Legolas caught their slight shake. Verhute, who sat to her side, looked to the woman kindly, perhaps with pity.  
  
"No, my lord," Her eyes rose briefly to meet Brilthor's own. "Of course, not." Amoran's gaze held a moment longer before falling to the plate before her, "I would never allow myself such fanciful thoughts. I am a Man maiden. My place is beside a Man. Elves, though kind," she inclined her head, a coldness about the gesture, "and generous hosts, are beyond my understanding. And I have only become further mystified in your presence."  
  
"You can not understand how pleased I am to hear this." Brilthor moved to place the goblet down, pausing as Amoran spoke.  
  
"I'm rather sure I can."  
  
Lord Brilthor rose a golden brow at the statement. Amoran continued, her jaw tight, eyes mesmerized by some design within the wood of the table. "Such a pairing is beyond thought, is it not? It's unnatural. Unkind. Your people are beautiful, as a song. But only a Man, lost of his senses, would bind himself to a song, is that not so? But what if that song were everything? What if he were blind and awed, could such madness not be understandable, acceptable? And what of the song? What is a song without the Man to praise, to hear, to make, and love it. A song is nothing without the musician."  
  
"Songs were created long before Man's coming, child." Brilthor tightly reminded.  
  
"Yes, but could any love it as a Man does, never living as we do, never hearing as we do?"  
  
"Yes," Ardel spoke, playing with berries that rolled upon the silver of his plate, "None could ever love it as an Elf does, we who bore it, created it. None could understand the song like another, there is no greater understanding than creation."  
  
"Must there be understanding in love?" Legolas asked. Brilthor placed the goblet heavily down upon the table, a slight shake traveling along it at the motion. Several of the Elves blinked at the sound. Amoran's wide eyes caught with Legolas', quickly moving away as Brilthor spoke.  
  
"Of course there must be understanding. If there is no understand, what is there to love?" Brilthor gestured wildly with a hand, "Love is then nothing but lust, made real through fantasies and fallacies, grand delusions of one's wanting. Without understanding, one sees what one wishes to see and makes manifest their fancies."  
  
"And what if the manifest be made mutual, what difference would there be from truth and fancy?" Ardel asked, spearing a berry that bled black.  
  
"One be of truth and one fancy, one hollow and insatiable. Those senselessly tempting fate, choose their own: one of deceit and untruth, hurt and misery." Brilthor said, he paused and appeared so wearied. Young of face and body, yet he bore the ages in his eyes and words. He continued with a more kindly tone, "Those who would wittingly choose such a fate, I deem fools, the worst of fools, those by choice."  
  
Silence filled the air, none daring to look to another, their thoughts carrying import, some lost, some fading, some wearied, others waiting. Brilthor appeared quite exhausted of the argument, and who would dare tempt his uncle beyond his wanting words?  
  
"And what aid would serve warning and harsh words, no matter their wisdom, to these fools of choice?" Amoran spoke, her eyes rising momentarily in a testing manner to Brilthor's own. Finding a greater force there, her gaze immediately fell to the familiar safety of the tabletop.  
  
Eyes rose to Brilthor, those not fading, waiting.  
  
"None, my lady." The eyes turned to Legolas. Amoran's own rose and met with his, so bright by comparison. "None." Legolas continued, "For they must endure their own foolishness in turn. They have only to hope that their pleasures in the end mount greater than their pain."  
  
"A song feels no pain, my lord." Amoran said, her hands gripping the edge of the table, nails digging into the soft wood.  
  
"I am no longer speaking of songs, Amoran." Legolas uttered the words gently, almost hoping that only she would hear, a fallacy for sure. Her eyes widened further, mouth opened as if to speak.  
  
*I am wearied.* Mirawen's whispery voice bit through the silence. Legolas startled, having forgotten her presence at Ardel's side. Without further word, Ardel's mother rose from the table and drifted into the cover of trees, her hand reaching as if to touch the low hanging branches, sharp bark, but never truly reaching. Her form faded in the distance.  
  
Amoran's eyes sought out his questioningly.  
  
"As am I. Please, enjoy the meal." Brilthor did not look to any in particular, but Legolas knew he was being spoken to directly. "It would be a shame to not partake of something so laid before you."  
  
Brilthor rose from the table with dignity, the other Elves present and Amoran also rising with their lord, silently respectful as he left the clearing. Legolas remained standing as all others sat again.  
  
"Forgive me this," he asked of Ardel, offering a nod of respect, which was returned by his cousin with acceptance. With a simple gesture of the hand, he bid the others not to rise at his leave taking.  
  
Heavy was Amoran's gaze upon him as he cut across the clearing. Pausing at the barest cover of the trees and underbrush, Legolas turned, his eyes seeking her own. She sat rigidly, tearing a piece of bread within her grasp, absently listening to Ardel as he offered her wine. Their eyes met, her jaw was held tight, mouth a thin line. Amoran gave the slightest of nods before returning her attentions to Ardel.  
  
* * *  
  
"He knows!" Amoran hissed in way of welcoming.  
  
Legolas chose not to turn, his back to her, eyes focused upon something she could not see within the middle distance. He could hear her breath, impassioned and familiar. Legolas listened as her feet beat against the ground, blades of spring grass bowing beneath her weight. He could not understand her confusion, her anger. At this moment, he could not understand her.  
  
"You have spent a fortnight away from your bed, Amoran. We have not taken care in our actions. He is the lord of this manor. I would be surprised and worried if he had not come to this conclusion," he told her calmly, mesmerized by the shadows waving upon the leaves of an oak, breathed into life through the sweet Spring breeze.  
  
"Ardel told him," she said, a tightness and anger in her voice. "He . . ."  
  
"No," Legolas interrupted firmly, "Ardel would speak of naught. He would consider it a matter of honor."  
  
He could feel a tightness, a tension, within the air, knowing Amoran to be its source. Part of him called to comfort her, but that which was stronger steadied him. At that moment, Legolas felt terribly alert, waiting for her every word, every breath, somehow seeing meaning in each.  
  
"Honor," she said with dislike, "Yours or his?"  
  
"Such a tone, Amoran. Temper it swiftly unless you wish me to believe I have done some wrong otherwise unseen."  
  
"Why are you not angry?" Her voice suddenly sounded puzzled.  
  
"For I cannot understand why you are."  
  
"He vouched me a whore!" Her voice grew tight and nearly broke.  
  
"He did no such thing, Amoran. You hear from his mouth what you fear for him to say." Legolas finally turned.  
  
Amoran stood behind him, her face blushing with anger, eyes wild. Her fierce gaze was upon him as it never had been before.  
  
"Nay, Legolas. He called me a whore and he berated you as a silly child. Publicly."  
  
Legolas could not understand her anger. He knew better than to think Amoran innocent of the less honorable of the world. He knew better than to think this to be the first time Amoran had ever been named a whore. But he could not very well say such to her.  
  
As if in answer to his thoughts, Amoran spoke, her hands as fists held tightly to her sides.  
  
"I know not why I am angered so. Yet, I am!" She turned as if to stomp from the clearing. Legolas looked on, soundly puzzled. Amoran halted, shoulders rigid, head bowed. "Nay, Legolas," She turned, a brightness, a fierceness, in her gaze, a blaze burning behind her smallest move, "I lie. I know precisely what has angered me so."  
  
"Then, speak, Amoran," Legolas said, a foreign quality in his voice, a weakness. Had it always been there? "Your passion threatens to burn you from within."  
  
"You have angered me so, Legolas! You!"  
  
There was a stony silence. Amoran's breathing was shallow but strong in his ears. Fierce and more foreign than an animal, she stood before him, chin held high, posture defiant. Without thought, his body took cue from her own, defiant in his own right.  
  
"Me? I have done this?" Legolas' voice spoke softly, a surety and apathy present not felt. "How so? Surely, my uncle . . ."  
  
"I care not for your uncle!" Amoran threw her hands to the air with the proclamation, "I care even less for his insults. How can you insult a thief? A whore?"  
  
"I know not," Legolas paused, taking a perverse pleasure in making her wait at his words, "But apparently, I have mastered such a feat. Tell me, my dear woman, how have I insulted a thief?"  
  
"You dare not call me a whore, Legolas?" she asked, eyes piercing, knowing his answer and waiting.  
  
"I dare not."  
  
"For you wish me not to be." Amoran spoke with a tone befitting of a dark winter, lacking of light and cutting with frost. "Your uncle is rash. Rash, yes. Ignorant, no. His words speak of wisdom to me, Legolas. What do they say to you?"  
  
Legolas dared not speak, untrusting of his tongue. Amoran appeared to care not.  
  
"You dare not call me a whore, Legolas, for you are left unwanting of one so dirtied by hands of men. It fits not with your fantasy, Legolas. Normally, I would oblige." She turned her eyes from him, distant in the act. "I have done so in the past," she whispered. "But it has gone too far."  
  
She quieted, catching her tongue. Her eyes found him, recognition shining within them as if truly seeing him. The woman appeared singularly unwilling to continue.  
  
"Speak, Amoran," Legolas commanded, folding his arms across his chest, "for it is plain that you are far from through."  
  
"Perhaps I wish to speak no more, my lord. Mayhap, I am wanting back my words?"  
  
"My lord?" Legolas echoed. "You sound fearful, Amoran. What fear you?"  
  
She paused, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth momentarily. "You, Legolas. I fear you. Rightfully so. How easily we forget, I forget, but in your hands rest my fate. Whilst I linger, your power is certain upon me."  
  
"We have paid such little thought before, as it should be now."  
  
"Easily, you say such things. Easily such words, lacking precaution, fall, until you are the one governed."  
  
"Speak, Amoran." Legolas once again commanded. "You have no reason to fear."  
  
Amoran appeared doubtful.  
  
Turning, she began to slowly pace a jagged line before him. He watched, drawing patience tightly about him as one would a coverlet.  
  
"Your uncle spoke wisely," she began with uncertainty of tone. Soon, her words were sure and spoken with detachment. "We are playing a game with our fantasies as pieces. To be saved, to save."  
  
"We each save the other," Legolas said.  
  
She turned, pausing in step. For a moment, she looked at him, eyes squinted, brow knotted, as if having found him wanting. "Nay, Legolas. It is a game. Neither of us is saved in the end. We play against each other, willing opponents. We face each the other, hoping in the end, we take more than we give. You said so yourself. None are saved. Do you not see this?"  
  
"I find that I see little as you do, Amoran. Enlighten me."  
  
Amoran again resumed her step, worrying her hands before her. "Games are well and good, until they are taken too far."  
  
"You believe we have taken this too far?" His voice sounded dull within his ears.  
  
"No."  
  
"I . . ." he began, lost to her thoughts.  
  
"Not we." Amoran interrupted, "Not we, Legolas. I remember the rules." She smiled, ironic in its twist, "Mayhap, I have lived longer by them."  
  
"I never agreed to any rules, Amoran. If there be any, they were set by you."  
  
She halted her pacing and once again turned to face him. There was a distance between them, both within the same small clearing, both standing strong by will and both opposing one the other.  
  
"Mayhap, Legolas. Mayhap. But you broke the One Rule." Amoran dropped her hands to their respective sides, a softness spreading about her features. Her manners spoke of weakness; tired, aged. Never had she appeared so worn before in his eyes. "You spoke of Love. You have fallen in love with the game, my dear Elf."  
  
Their eyes met, hers so dark, reminding him of the night's sky, stolen of its brightness. She spoke not as he broke his gaze from her own, turning his back upon her as she finally fled, as she had been wanting. Her retreating steps were as echoes within his mind, faint as her words.  
  
Night enveloped him.  
  
* * *  
  
The smell of hay carried upon the cool air, along with leather and spring grasses. There was also something spicy, reminding Legolas strangely of ginger. Stalls opened up before him endlessly, filled with Brilthor's fiery breeds and his son's placid pets, spotted amongst them were strong mixtures of the two; beasts at the disposal of any Elf under the good lord's roof and care.  
  
Ardel strode silently by his side, carelessly wrapping a belt around his hand, so tight as to turn his fingers white and leave red and sore telltale signs behind. Legolas was unsure why he carried it with him so; he donned his favorite belt about his waist, worn leather threaded in silver, the buckle jeweled in chips of emeralds and sapphire. Ardel, much like Thranduil, had always delighted in coveting beautiful things, the more rare the better. Alternatively, Legolas liked to think himself immune to such things, though in truth he would miss them in their lacking.  
  
*Casion!* Ardel greeted his steed with an enthusiasm that insisted it to be forced, purposely focusing the whole of his attention upon the spotted animal. For its part, Casion readily ignored its morning meal of oats and met Ardel's enthusiasm with its own.  
  
Legolas allowed a small smile at the camaraderie between them as he moved two stalls over, to where his own mount nibbled upon the hay about his feet. Ever the ready for an adventure or run, lacking in nothing but patience for enclosure, Alandal was one of a long breed that had ever served Legolas well.  
  
With a snort, Alandal rose his dark head to Legolas' shoulder, affectionately butting him with his snout. Meanwhile, Ardel was resting his cheek against Casion's neck, a hand wrapped around and gently running through the animal's soft mane.  
  
He heard Ardel give a slight sigh as he sought out a brush. Finding one, Legolas gently pat Alandal's neck as he moved to brush the lean body. Ardel gave a heavier sigh.  
  
Legolas rose a wary eye to Ardel, whose own quickly found the stable's ceiling quite fascinating.  
  
*Ai, speak, Ardel. Your silence is ever deafening.*  
  
Ardel seemed about to sigh once more, before thinking better of it. With a solid gaze speaking of little humor, he lowered his eyes to meet Legolas' own.  
  
*Truly, I have much to say, my dear cousin, but I know naught of what words to use.*  
  
Legolas let the silence hang through the air, knowing the other's lack of words would be short lived.  
  
*It is, of course, concerning the mortal.*  
  
* * *  
  
The morning had dawned young and beautiful. Amoran had again found herself awakening between the cold sheets of her own chamber for the time. Quickly, she had dressed in the beautiful garments set out upon an armchair, riding boots upon the floor to its side, and strong leather gloves, supple through their age, sitting upon a small table, beside a goblet of juice and a letter littered with scribbles.  
  
The small bit of parchment was now warm in her pocket and she fiddled with its edges between her gloved fingertips. For many days, perhaps much longer, the breeze had placed warm kisses upon the grasses and ran its languid fingers through the leaves, yet today, as yesterday and the days before that, its chill bit softly. The gentle bites chased her ever she went: upon her heels, beneath her skirts, about her neck, vicious as a lover's caress.  
  
With a biting sarcasm, she thought the weather well timed, thinking of little worse a choice of days to threaten with rain and frost. It was nearing the summer months, of this she was rather sure, yet how closely they approached, she knew not. Perhaps they were already in the first days and weeks of summer, the sun and wind playing tricks upon her cruelly.  
  
Truly, she hoped not, for if the summer days dawned so cool, what of a winter did she have before her? Mayhap one of such viciousness and cruelty that she had yet to see. But Amoran had seen many winters, many through her days and many deserving of such feared titles. As in the past, she would survive the weather; it was ever her fellows that threatened else wise.  
  
Corridors spread out before her, smelling of wet dirt and salt as things did before a storm. But there was also something spicy that tickled the back of her throat; it reminded Amoran of something she could not place, yet familiar all the same.  
  
Stone and dirt stretched beneath her feet. Amoran felt as if she were walking through a dream. Soft plucking of harps and the smooth fall and flow of voices echoed, strong as gold but just as supple. Amoran wondered if she truly heard them or if her mind played the song within her ears, having grown so accustomed to have expected it so. It was her own foot falls that grounded her, the soft whisper of her skirt upon the ground and thump of air as her feet fell again and again as silently as she could. It had become a sort of game that she had never realized in its making, ever striving to achieve that easy silence that surrounded and enveloped all but her. No matter how hard she tried, the fall set her apart, and now she believed to favor it being so. It was a soft and steady reassurance of her presence. The ground called to her as she walked upon it as it did not the Elves that surrounded her.  
  
It was a gift. To be recognized and responded to.  
  
It was a small treasure, but treasure all the same, of which these first born were denied. Amoran wondered how she did not see it as so in the beginning. Perhaps, she was too blinded by pretty things and golden voices, all of which were mere echoes in her mind drowned out by the grounding fall of her steps upon the dirt path before her.  
  
* * *  
  
*Amoran?* Legolas quested, gently running the brush's soft bristles the length of the animal's belly. *What have you to say concerning her?*  
  
*She is not what I thought her to be.* Ardel answered simply, before continuing, *Legolas, dear cousin, I think she may have the makings to hurt you.*  
  
The other paused, uncertainty thickening the expanse between them.  
  
*Do continue*  
  
Ardel pressed his cheek further into Casion's neck, seeking comfort as one would behind a mother's skirts. *I mean no insult.*  
  
*I took none,* Legolas assured softly.  
  
*She trifles in matters beyond her, taking little care, little heed. She plays amongst us as one would as a child. Spinning and spinning, Legolas. Laughing carelessly at the distortion of melting colors, caring nothing for the inevitable fall. I fear when she shall stop.*  
  
*You fear she shall stop?*  
  
*Nay, Legolas,* Ardel answered sternly, *I fear of when and how tightly you shall hold upon her. She shall fall from that state of euphoria; it is a mortal's way of things to live outside our own. I fear she shall cling onto you, and more distressingly, you upon her. You are wise, Legolas, and have ever been my guiding hand when I have been pressed coldly into darkness. This is careless of you. A carelessness I did not think you capable. Over all, I fear for you, dear cousin.*  
  
*I knew soon after I met her that circumstance was threatening. My dreams . . . I dreamt in nights and days alike of my brother's face. Ai, how soon Arda wearied him. Understanding abandoned me upon my brother's heels.*  
  
*You were young,* Ardel interrupted, *And ever you remain.*  
  
*His was not the only face I saw.* Legolas continued as if unheeding of Ardel's words, * I saw your mother's, as well, blanketed in Mirkwood's darkest shadows . . . She lingers for you.*  
  
*I know this,* The other murmured. *She is beyond leaving now. Ever a phantom wandering these halls, she is tied. Rare is the occasion she has the state of mind to think beyond days past, none the less to think of those before her. In the end, I shall bring her with me over the deepest blue of the sea, and she will find peace. We shall all find peace.*  
  
*I find that I am thankful my mother has not lingered so. The fading of a presence is but a warped answer to one's desire for the other's stay. I wish no ghost of a brother or mother or friend, alike. Yet, faces fade before me still. Brilthor . . .*  
  
*His fury shall steady him. Even in the end, merely to spite the turning of time, he shall linger, his strength undiminished, as shall our king.* Ardel insisted, pulling from Casion's embrace.  
  
*Time is a worthy foe.* Legolas murmured bitterly. Ardel nodded, moving to lean against the opening of Alandal's stall. He looked to Legolas with concern.  
  
*Aye.*  
  
* * *  
  
Shadows played about her feet, stone now beneath her as she followed the long and tired curves of an archway, vines clinging and digging into its timeless depths as if it were a wooden arbor. Eyes followed her upon this path, twinkling and winking in the speckled sunlight. Jewels they were, inlaid amongst the stone and betwixt the vines.  
  
Amoran moved closer to examine them. Varying from the deepest of reds to the lightest of blues and green, she could not understand their placement. They caught the subtlest of light, twinkling of soft colors, lost of their vibrancy in these shadows. It was several moments before she understood.  
  
They were stars, shining as their counterparts high above the treetops, beyond any mortal or immortal reach.  
  
Shedding the gloves into her pocket, she ran her bare hands over the rough stone. Yes, it was old. Many jewels came loose at her grip, needing far less coaxing then she imagined they would. Her hands stung, blood springing upon her fingertips and across her palms; mere trickles, little more. She placed the jewels inside her bodice. What was a sky, lacking a few of its stars?  
  
* * *  
  
*If you see the storm upon the horizon, the danger in your actions, why do you still act thus, Legolas?* Ardel's voice was bemused, eyes concerned. His lithe form leaned against the carved and ancient wood of Alandal's stall. He wove casualness about him, a hidden cloak, its weighty folds unable to hide his rapt disturbance.  
  
Legolas reveled in the silence. He felt no need to answer, focusing instead on the steady rise and fall of the brush against Alandal's midnight coat. Even in the silence, his thoughts continued, focusing upon the scratch of the brush, the scrapping of hooves upon hay, the slight snorts and nays whispered within the hollow stillness of the stables. His eyes wandered from the darkness before him, settling upon a single ray of sunlight, wavering and splattered in its delivery. Dust motes fell from the wooden ceiling, sparkling for a moment in the splendor of the single ray, before dying into darkness about their feet.  
  
*Legolas.* It was more of a statement, an awakening call, than a question or beckoning.  
  
He rose his eyes once more to Ardel, finding him to be upon the either side of Alandal, casualness strewn from his form, concern forefront and demanding.  
  
*You would leave me in silence?* Ardel questioned, betrayal in his tone, hurt in his eyes. *Do you think it be my wish to speak of such things?* He slightly shook his head, hair as dark as a starless night and a raven's wing waved with the motion. Cold eyes pierced Legolas' own. *Nay, Legolas. You know me well, far more well than that. Yet, perhaps I know you better than you understand yourself.* One of Ardel's fine hands raised to the stall wall, offering no support, yet mayhap it was for comfort in the presence as Ardel rounded the horse. His other hand trailed upon the animal's back, letting it know of his presence. Legolas was dimly aware of Alandal's ears following Ardel's movement.  
  
*Do you think yourself alone? Do you think yourself the only one to suffer?* Ardel stood nigh, having rounded Alandal and took his place beside Legolas. *We are a people that are beyond our time, dearest cousin. We are things of fancy and child's play, yet we live on. We have seen our victories number and seen mortals fall, our greatness has surpassed our dreams and thus become the makings of them. Where mortals take their falling with grace that comes with the way of things, we do not. They, who have been taught from the very beginning that they shall have an end, that their time shall fade and wither and fall, they find strength in this and acceptance. Yet how are we, a people who know little of time and know nothing of our own end, to fade and wither and fall with that same grace and strength? How are we to find acceptance?* Ardel gave a shallow, unhappy laugh, *Ai, we find it in our ignorance and rapturous denial. We find it in our fading. This is now a mortal's world, Legolas. You are too young to see the change and they are too old to believe. I have seen years outnumbering your own, yet I am still young in the shadow of our forefathers. I see, Legolas, and I am trying to find that strength and grace, for I know I shall never find acceptance.*  
  
Ardel paused, his eyes melting from their chill into their more familiar, cutting warmth. For several moments, he looked away, daring not to meet Legolas gaze, both within their own thoughts. Finally, Ardel's eyes rose again to Legolas', as if finding himself from his words, *Now, Legolas cousin, shall you leave me in silence?*  
  
* * *  
  
Dreams haunted her days; the nights riddled in sleepless struggles and dry tears. Amoran's heart stung within her breast, speaking from its silence. Oh, how many days her cares amounted to nothingness, her heart beating and little more.  
  
Take heart in one's indulgences, in one's breath, in one's quiet pains. Take the semblance of joy from the craftings of life, from the kiss of Man, from one's own existence. Ignore the hollowness and ringing of something better.  
  
Oh, what a life she had lived. Never think beyond the day, never think of the night. Amoran did not expect to live to be an old woman. Already her days mounted against her. This be her twenty-third summer. No longer could she call herself young, the tides of life carved into her face, as the brand burned against her skin.  
  
As her heart burned within her breast.  
  
She knew little of the heart, spurned it since youth's turning. Yet it whispered into her day's dreaming all the same. What if, it spoke. Never, it lied.  
  
Fear, ever through.  
  
This fear she knew, ever her shadow, ever there. Fear the wrong choice, it beckoned. Amoran's ever followed her fear, as it led to another day's turning, casting back the night. Hiding within her shadow, she would see her twenty-third summer, a small accomplishment within its own right.  
  
Oh, what a life to play. Freedom in her actions, rebel to the designs, reveling within her own indulgences. If she were to live such a life, she would make it grand. None were to speak of her in days to come, none would remember this With none to know her, know her actions, what matters those indulgences, extravagances, those small sins? What a modest cost it brings to truly breathe. Ida saw this. Lands spread before her, never knowing the constant, never stilling to the past.  
  
But, dearest Amoran, play where the fire is warm, yet mind the flames all the same. Oh, to be burned, fear whispered. Keep to the shadows, keep to the light, for in the darkness of night it burns all the brighter.  
  
Taking what she will, Amoran paid no mind to these engulfing flames. Oh to be burned, she reveled. Just for a time, to forget the pain. What a silly girl she had been and what a silly girl she remained. None were to speak of this ill chosen woman and her ill chosen ways.  
  
She used to fear that none would ever know her, remember her. Now she feared that Legolas would.  
  
Oh, her heart beat within her breast: fear the choice not taken, fear the choice given.  
  
Better to risk little and gain nothing, than to risk everything and perhaps lose it all. Such were the ways of a survivor and a silly woman's turning tides of thought. Yet, as with a will guided by the wind, how true it rang and how strong it would hold.  
  
* * *  
  
Legolas' hands stilled upon the beast, before dropping the brush to the floor and running a bare hand over the animal's back. He took reassurance in the gentle rise and fall of Alandal's breath.  
  
*How often you speak, yet how little you ever truly choose to tell.* Legolas sighed, turning to face Ardel fully, a hand resting upon Alandal's back. *I tend to forget that that is a matter of restraint, not lacking. Forgive me, cousin.*  
  
Ardel gave a curt nod.  
  
*Ask of me what you shall,* he bid. Ardel's shoulders wilted subtly.  
  
*Pray tell, Legolas, why?*  
  
That was the question he had so often answered within his own mind, realizing and rationalizing. Yet he found himself unwilling to tell, as if it be some dirty truth, best hidden within the shadows of his mind marred. *Ai, Ardel, you ask a question that I have so often asked my own self.*  
  
Ardel again inclined his head, willing the other onward. With a cluck of the tongue, he bid Alandal out of his stall. The horse complied faithfully, finding the remainings of Casion's oats.  
  
*Why have I chosen to taunt fate?* Legolas began again, resting back against the stall wall, raising his eyes to the dust motes dancing above their heads in the shadows of the ceiling. *Because I am weak and foolish. Why her? Ai, Elbereth forgive me, for it sounds so unkind, yet mayhap it be for she was there. I would never have sought out a mortal.* Suddenly he lowered his gaze to Ardel's own, *Perhaps it was the parting words that had fallen from upon my brother's tongue and I saw within others' eyes. From birth he suffered the wearies of Arda, yet in the end, he told me he felt nothing; not the wind upon his back or sun on his face, or breath upon his lips and heat beneath his touch. He who had once felt all of these things and so much more . . .now felt nothing.* Legolas pushed away from the stall, the smallest creak of wood calling to the act. Ardel blinked twice to the sudden movement, *Nothing, Ardel! *I must leave,* he told me, *I must, my dearest brother, for I fear. I fear past's taunting, fading's call. I fear that in this void, I shall gladly cling to the pain's of past to merely feel. I fear I shall do so and find nothing but a ghost's touch. I must leave, Legolas, for lastly I fear that I shall revel in that touch and become it. My heart dreads I shall not love you or anything any more. Let me this, dearest brother.* His words hang upon me still. He was shamed to think himself too weak to remain. Yet, I am shamed to know that I am too weak to not.  
  
*The wind upon my back turns to the barest of breeze, a whisper of words I wish forgotten. The sun has long become a golden thing, priceless, and rare in these times, rarer than the jewels that my father cherishes so. The breath upon my lips? Heat beneath my touch? She is warm beneath me and breathes against my lips in the night. I find feeling through her. I knew it was foolish to tempt fate. I told myself she was a child. I told myself that she was a thief.* Legolas stilled upon his words. Ardel's eyes and heart were open, listening, waiting. A sarcasm bit within Legolas, that he would stumble upon such things and Ardel would know naught. Or perhaps he knew all too well. *Yet she was insistent. Again, I am weak. Tell me, Ardel, would you have acted any wiser?*  
  
Ardel's eyes wandered to the horses, two stalls over, before reluctantly returning, *Perhaps not,* Ardel allowed. *No, I would not. For I have done the same in the past, in the now. Ai, Legolas, I know too well she was a poor choice, a tempting one, but poor all the same.*  
  
*It is a wonder, Ardel.* Legolas quickly followed, *How brightly their lives burn; how brightly she burns. I draw to the flame, seeking its warmth in this plunging darkness. I love my people, our ways, yet I wallow in that which is mortal, for it burns all the brighter in these days. Now she reminds me of my brother's hauntings, that ghost's touch, in meeting it he feared himself tied. I am bound, Ardel. For through her I once again find the wind upon my back and the sun on my face, and it is her breath upon my lips and her heat in my touch. Perhaps, it is a foolish decision, yet it is one made. I may ever regret the choice taken, but may I have lived in it.*  
  
Ardel appeared unwilling to meet his eyes, and Legolas found that he was unwilling to meet the others as well. *You think she able to hurt me, Ardel?* The other's gaze fell at the calling, *You are quite right. Yet, I shall revel in the pain, for I shall feel something and as long as I do, I shall feel that ghost of breath and whisper of warmth. I shall remember the words of the wind and search for the sun in the light of the moon. It is not an if, dear cousin, it is a when. She shall hurt me, this I know, for it is the way of these things. She shall wither while I linger. Yet mayhap I would have found something precious and enduring in that time to last me to Valinor. Better to follow the seas in pain and poignant certainty, than in a dull fear.  
  
*Yes, your fears are warranted and I am a fool, the worst of fools, a fool by choice.*  
  
* * *  
  
Sun speckled through the high treetops, hazy shafts of light dipping evergreen leaves in muffled gold before splattering upon the ground delicately, defining shadows and little more. Elves whispered about the fringes of a small glen, lost in the crackle and wave of the leaves above and below their feet. Horses stood in the center of the clearing, riders to their sides.  
  
Verhute spoke softly to Beredil as his brother once again secured the fastenings upon the packhorse's load. The disagreement between the two brothers had not been resolved and promised to with the slightest aggravation turn into more than a verbal row. At the moment, Belethil refused to speak to his brother and Beredil took joy in the subtle tauntings, which he knew the other unable to deny or acknowledge, on sheer principal.  
  
Melstoe stood amongst the crowd of Elves, his wife and daughter to his side. Gone were his bow and long sword, replaced with a worn cloak as deeply blue as the bottom of the sea, his brunette tresses loosed from the braids of a warrior. He would stay, duty long served and happiness owing. His wife to his side, clothed in gold and green, held his hand with grounding force while their grown daughter hugged upon the crook of his either arm, a crown of daisies and sprigs of blood-red buds upon her chestnut brow.  
  
Amoran approached from a swerving and short woodland path, dark amongst the shadows and clad in her riding dress and gloves, hair upswept in a thick, wooly braid. Her feet fell quickly, sturdy, and true. Ithillian strode shortly behind her, as the path was rather narrow and discouraged travelers, easily matching pace; his hand upsweeping a side of the light cloak and resting upon the impressive hilt of a sheathed sword.  
  
She stopped abruptly. Ithillian avoided plowing into her back with an impressive turn and sidestep. Without notice to the near collision, Amoran continued forward, slowly approaching her familiar mount, which stood obediently in the forefront of the party.  
  
"Ah, Taszuluen. We meet again," Amoran said amicably, patting the long snout of the animal with the faintest of smiles. Her gaze shifted as three others approached from a gravel path a short distance to her right and cutting through the crowd of onlookers.  
  
Ardel laughed merrily to Legolas' side. The familiar midnight steed trotted lazily to his other. Legolas appeared faintly amused at his friend's antics, that is until Ardel stifled his laughter to utter three more words in their mother tongue.  
  
His brow knitted and he looked to his cousin with not-too-astonishment. "That was crude!" he noted in Common.  
  
"Aye, belly-aching in more than one manner, is that not so?" Ardel said amicably.  
  
Legolas looked to the heavens for guidance, finding none he seemed to study the crowd and party before them, all save Amoran. Ardel laughed to himself, though a lingering seriousness plagued his gaze.  
  
Amoran continued to pet Taszuluen's snout, her eyes flickering between the animal and Legolas as he spoke to Ardel.  
  
"Ai, my heart shall weep until next it sees you, dear cousin," Legolas said, settling Alandal beside Amoran.  
  
"Shall it, Legolas?" Ardel asked with all seriousness, before flashing a brilliant smile. He turned and with a word and two clucks of the tongue, Casion slowed from a gallop as she broke into the clearing from upon the path Amoran had just followed. "Then how could I leave you? Indeed, cruel it would be."  
  
Legolas looked to him blandly.  
  
"I speak in soothe." Ardel continued, "And occurrences of late have assured me that you are needing in company and wanting of another sword. You could always have need of another sword, could you not, dear cousin? Upon the shadowy paths that greet you so?  
  
"I shall take Melstoe's place," he stated, chin held high, daring Legolas to object. Ardel gracefully and within the blink of an eye turned and mounted Casion, "And I have become quite taken with Lady Amoran." He looked to her and actually had the audacity to wink. This woke Amoran to the fact that she had been staring; she quickly righted the wrong, switching her unfocused gaze to Legolas' boots, unable to fully clear the grin from her lips. "My father's warning has only intensified my love for the maiden. Ai, our love is forbidden and I seek acceptance and the chance to woo within my uncle, our king's, halls."  
  
Legolas laughed lightly, "Do we speak of the same king? I fear, dear cousin, your love shall remain forbidden and you will have to sate it with admiration from afar."  
  
"Oh, dear." Ardel sighed, "Does that mean I should take rear guard?"  
  
He flashed again that brilliant smile before joining Ithillian and the packhorse to the end of the party. Without order, their company once again formed, a twisted vision of how it had once been. Verhute rode up to Legolas' left, a quiet nod exchanging between the two in understanding. The brothers rode behind, silence coldly originating from Belethil and humor from Beredil. The packhorse rode alone behind them and before the rearguard, consisting of Ithillian and Ardel.  
  
Amoran and Legolas' places were unchanged since the beginning.  
  
Ardel grasped at the hem of Ithillian's cloak, pulled it back with a flourish, and seeing the jeweled hilt, let it fall forward. He gave a snort of derision, his eyes searching the boughs above. Ithillian silently smiled, again securing his cloak about him.  
  
Hands gently grasped Amoran's waist. Immediately, she knew their owner. Familiar, long fingers held upon her sides, restrained strength in their grasp, wide palms spread across her hipbones. Without looking back with acknowledgment at the face above and behind her own, she allowed him to lift and settle her upon Taszuluen's saddle. She heard him pat the animal, her skirts shifting at the movement, with a fond, unfamiliar word. When Amoran decided to face Legolas, she found that he had already left her side and had mounted upon Alandal, exchanging short, quiet words with Verhute.  
  
Several lamps were lit and passed amongst the members; Ardel, Beredil, and Verhute each taking one. So like were they to that which Amoran remembered promising to never let go, to that which had crashed beneath Taszuluen's feet and before Ardel's own. How that felt like forever ago.  
  
The crowd spread amongst the trees and fern, faded back into the line of shadow and bleeding sunlight. Stepping forward upon the rise of land before them in this small glen, Brilthor stood proudly before them in robes of evergreen and rimmed in fur. He looked to the party with both sorrow and fondness, for it took a liking to care so greatly as to feel saddened within one's self.  
  
Legolas placed his hand over his heart, whispery words falling from his lips as effortlessly as a breath. Brilthor returned the gesture, the words rising from him as if from the very trees and shadows, un-needing of him and his form. In that moment, his form was faded, unsure amongst these shadows of trees and fall of sun. He turned to Amoran and the brightness of his eyes reminded her of a star's burning, his form ever sure and set apart from all about it.  
  
"May thy ways be green and golden and the breeze ever be on thy back." He told her shortly, before stepping back with his fellows, as the party moved forward, from the speckled warmth of the midday's sun to the shadows before and behind them, to be enveloped by them.  
  
Soon, harps plucking died within their ears as the wind was muffled within the confines of the grand trees of Mirkwood. The gates of Brilthor's manor were shut behind them and the stone wall rose high between them. The air once again reeked of decomposing leaves and strangled air, nothing dared speak in fear. In fear of the darkness and all that it hides, the company moved forward upon the veiled path before them.  
  
* * *  
  
Well, there you are! Chapter Twenty-Six and they've left Brilthor's Manor. Please take a few moments to drop me a review and tell me what you think. Feedback does wonders for the muse. 


	27. The Madness of the Trees

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Madness of the Trees  
  
* * *  
  
The mind is an odd thing, very dependent in its nature. What is day and what is night when light is the flicker of a lamp and sun and stars are memories and hopes? And what of distance when the dark, mossy bark of one tree echoes that of the last? Without these constant signs, grounding sights, the mind rebels in fear of abandonment, betrayal. It needs neither day nor night, home is ever a step away and danger is ever upon her heels.  
  
So were Amoran's thoughts. Hooves beat upon the dry, hard forest bed. For several leagues, flickers of leather and bright eyes would flash between trees beside their path.  
  
"Archers," Legolas told her with certainty, his eyes upon the shadows before them, "they shall follow us for some time. Take comfort in their presence."  
  
Soon, those bright eyes had died away and the flickers vanished into shadow. Again, weariness threatened upon her form, frustrating through and through. The Elves were left untouched by all about them. Shadows parted before these warriors of time past, creatures scurried with certain fear from the arching boughs.  
  
The hooves beat on.  
  
Amoran took comfort in Belethil's song. Oh, how beautiful an Elf's voice rang in these darkened days. Her companions would sing in soft undertones, lips hardly moving. The song came naturally to them, it was its absence they feared and loathed. Amoran reveled in the comfort and familiarity.  
  
The weariness cut through the fog of thought. The very blood running within her veins tangibly stung, each movement was as an effort. Breath felt old and straining, yet refreshing in a strange way, as blood letting did for a fever. Her muscles pulled tight, knotting 'til her back bent. Meanwhile, the Elves sat regally upon their mounts, eyes warily flickering amongst the shadows, halting at odd sounds that Amoran could not hear.  
  
It was some time before Amoran realized the shadow's lightening. She remembered little of the road, save the burning of her blood and age upon her breath, decaying leaves palatable upon the tongue. Words were uttered about her, she knew this, but they were unimportant as her mind was enveloped by this consuming darkness.  
  
At several points, she turned, back screaming at the effort, hearing a child's laugh from within the trees. Legolas looked to her with concern. He had heard nothing.  
  
Once, she threw herself from off Taszuluen's back crying that her father was lost in the trees.  
  
"The trees, Legolas!" she screamed, "He's in them! In them!"  
  
He easily restrained her as she threatened to flee into the darkness, not to the voice but from it. Legolas handled her as delicately as he could before him upon Alandal, though bruises would arise deeply purple in the days to come. She fell quiet in his grasp, hoping to hide inside him. None would find her there. No, none knew her there. She was safe, yet her heart beat fervently within her breast in fear.  
  
Sleep came upon her, almost unnatural in its coming.  
  
She awoke with speckled sunlight upon her face. Something moist and solid was placed against her cracked lips.  
  
"Drink," Legolas' soft voice entreated.  
  
Greedily, she obliged, a hand rising to grasp around his own that held upon the water skin, pressing until Amoran was gulping and water overflowed her lips and ran cold down her cheeks and neck. He pulled away as she began to choke.  
  
How strange, she felt so warm, yet her last memory was being so very cold. She opened her eyes. Legolas kneeled beside her, his gaze past her, the water skin cradled between his hands. Something sank within her as Legolas' eyes focused upon her, flames reflected in their depths. Amoran turned her face from him, wishing it away. In its place she found fire.  
  
Behind the fire sat and slept her companions. She was upon the hard forest bed, blankets wrapped tightly about her body. Lying back she placed her hands over her eyes.  
  
She waited.  
  
Yet the trees and shadows loomed silent about them.  
  
"Have I gone mad?" she asked in a horse whisper of the fiery eyes before her.  
  
Legolas looked kindly back. He shook his head, placing the water skin down beside her feet. "I think not," he answered.  
  
"But," Amoran moved to sit forward, it was easier than she had expected.  
  
"Hush, now." Legolas entreated, his eyes once again falling past her to his companions. He rose nimbly to his feet, holding a hand down to her. "Come."  
  
She took his hand and he lifted her effortlessly to her feet. "Where?" Amoran asked as he led her by hand across the small clearing and to the edges of the firelight.  
  
"There is a small creek, just nigh," he pointed through the trees, "I think you would appreciate a cool bath. It may be some time before the chance lay before you once more."  
  
Indeed, her dress felt sticky against her skin with cold sweat, her hair dirtied and disheveled, several strands stuck to her forehead and neck. She would welcome a bath greatly, yet a lingering thought had her pull back against his lead.  
  
"But, Legolas," she whispered, "the trees!"  
  
His brow knit and he looked to her in concern. She felt Legolas' grasp tighten. "Amoran, is your father in the trees?"  
  
She stilled her tongue, eyes shiftily searching the boughs above, unmoving. Amoran slowly looked to him. "No," she lied.  
  
* * *  
  
A brook fed the shallow river. The water ran slowly down the length of rock and dirt, swirling reflections of the shadowy boughs above. Sun speckled the leaves overhead in lighter hues, little lights so high above their heads.  
  
Hands helped her shed her riding cloak and undid her laces. Soon cloth bunched about her bare feet. A breeze whispered amongst the leaves high above and Amoran found herself crossing her arms over her breasts. The chill, she told herself, though it was rather pleasantly tempered.  
  
The water splattered at the intrusion. This brook was fed by melting snow. Her arms tightened around her breasts and truly it was for the chill. Her teeth began to chatter; yet she held her jaw firm.  
  
Amoran turned, eyes searching upon Legolas' form. He was a shadow strewn across a boulder that reached out a short distance into the riverbed. His legs swung back and forth over the edge, to her side and above her head. She could not see his face, and his eyes were a sparkle in the shadow, but Amoran knew he looked to her expectantly, waiting for her to speak, or perhaps to flee into the trees in a fit of madness.  
  
She wished to do neither.  
  
"It is truly cold." Her teeth chattered as if to express the truth of her statement.  
  
"Your flesh has been heated by the fire. It is not truly so cold." He answered. A childish part of her wished to object with a, "But it is!" It won through and she did just that. He laughed in answer. "You have become accustomed to your luxuries. The woman who stole upon my father's boundaries would not have thought twice of the chill and would have never admitted that it was so."  
  
"Perhaps I have," she allowed. "Is that such a horrid thing?"  
  
"Horrid?" he asked in puzzlement. "No. Expected? Yes."  
  
"I don't like you at this moment," She whispered spitefully.  
  
Legolas grew silent for a short time, his legs stilling. Quietly, Amoran began to cup water within her hands and run it over her body, over the bruises around her elbows, arms, and wrists.  
  
"You bit me," he spoke some time later out of the silence.  
  
"What?" Amoran startled at the sudden speech.  
  
"You bit me," Legolas continued, "and I was slightly bitter. Forgive me."  
  
"Did it hurt?" She asked softly, knowing it to be an ignorant question.  
  
"Yes," he answered simply, yet she must have bitten hard for him to admit to such. Suddenly she sensed the metal tang of blood upon her tongue; before she had excused it as her own, now she was left unsure.  
  
"I'm sorry. Perhaps I can help you clean it?"  
  
"No need," he said, "it has already healed."  
  
Again, there was silence, all save the splattering of water as Amoran poured it upon her skin. Soon her flesh tempered to the chill and the bath was quite pleasant. Yet, she was ever aware of Legolas' presence so near to her own. Amoran softened her breath, waiting for him to speak. She refused to be the first.  
  
The water was black as night about her, rippling away in ever widening circles. Warm hands caressed against the rising bruise across her wrist. Amoran turned to him. He stood behind her in his leather breeches, and only, waist deep with her in the black pool. Slowly he cupped the cool water in his hand and dipped it over the bruising, as if hoping it would wash away.  
  
"I don't think you've ever done any wrong." Amoran spoke into the silence, taken no notice as he again cupped water over her wrist. "It's not in you. You are of the kind sung in tales and whispered to children in their beds, telling them that nothing can hurt them because you travel in the night and shadow. Because you slay those monsters and beasts, we shall all be able to sleep and dream.  
  
"You face fire and you shall never fall and in that we can all hold true. You are what we all wish we were or what we all condemn because we or not. Did you know this, Legolas? I wonder if you knew that when others look to you, they see someone that could do anything and would protect them without word. You are someone that would save us all and think nothing of it. Did you know this?"  
  
He let her hand fall and looked to her without word.  
  
"No, of course you would not say so," she continued with a quick smile, "because you think nothing of it. What could you think of us, if you think so little of yourself? You are perfect in so many ways, and there are parts of me that want to hate you for that because I shall never be. But more of me wants to love you for it. In hope that I could steal just a little part of that for myself. And that I would be safe in it, because you shall protect me without word.  
  
"Thus, I lied," she continued lamely. "I can't not like you. Ever."  
  
Legolas was quiet to her words, giving the slightest of nods to them in acknowledgment. He stood before her, flawless and strong, shadows seemingly fleeting from his form.  
  
"Oh, you are beautiful," she murmured, pushing a wandering strand of hair behind his ear.  
  
"'Tis not a pleasant thing," he swallowed in uncharacteristic hesitation. She forced her hand from his face, "'Tis not pleasant nor comforting to be a thing of child lore and dreams."  
  
Amoran furrowed her brow, unable to understand how that could be so. She was sure that Legolas knew no worse, knew no other way and thus did not understand how silly such a thing sounded. Many Men lived the entirety of their lives to that singular goal, to be remembered and spoke of with fancy.  
  
"Shall you be capable of riding on your own?" He asked, his eyes straying shortly to the bruises before returning to her own.  
  
"Certainly," Amoran said. She rose a hand in show. "This is nothing."  
  
Legolas inclined his head shortly. "We near the villages we last passed."  
  
"So soon?" Amoran questioned. "Tell me, Legolas, did I scream as a mad woman? I do not understand what magic these woods have wove. I am a child of these trees." Her eyes flickered to the boughs above; again she wrapped her arms about her breasts, slightly cringing as bruised skin panged at the movement. "Nay, not these, yet I am not unfamiliar to Mirkwood. Aye, I played upon their brighter cousins as a little girl. Never have they affected me thus. Mayhap as I left your king's halls. Alas, I do not understand."  
  
"Perhaps it is a form of magic woven about us as a web." Legolas said. He paused in thought. "I must ask where you bid us to leave. A village off the path, yes, yet I do not know the way. Are you capable of guiding our path from these woods or must we seek out familiar sightings?"  
  
"Nay, I know the way," Amoran assured. "Indeed, I could find my way blind and in the dark." Suddenly, she smiled, and his eyes fondly followed the gesture, "I have many times in the past."  
  
* * *  
  
Through the shadows, past the darkest trees, over the night and rocky ground the horse's hooves beat on. The company halted shortly several times due to Amoran's needs for sleep and weariness. Her mania disappeared as it had came upon, slowly and through silence. She distanced herself from the others, speaking when spoken to but cold and aloof otherwise.  
  
Amoran appeared to be planning. Legolas would listen to her muttering to herself as they traveled onward, as she slept, as she bathed. Words between them were oddly exchanged, erratic, and confusing. At times, she would reach out to him, before thinking better of it and speaking crudely in what Legolas believed to be an attempt to distance him, or herself.  
  
The road was plagued with odd exchanges and silent thoughts. Over hills, her mutterings grew silent, her eyes more wary. She led them through a glen, three small streams, over loose ground and muddy earth.  
  
"Over the hill." She told him tersely. "Then we shall happen upon flat land and cleared trees."  
  
He gave a silent nod before he led the party forward. The ground was difficult for their mounts to find steady footing. The packhorse found the greatest of troubles and had to be led by Ardel and Ithillian on foot. Legolas was sure there had to be a friendlier path and knew Amoran to have chosen this one specifically for its difficulty.  
  
By day's waning light they had climbed the difficult slope and halted upon its precipice. Amoran had indeed spoken in truth. Before them, the hill had gradually melted away into flat land. The trees had been cleared and thinned from the surrounding area. Their wood had been split and cut into boards. The land was squared and fenced and within grazed sheep and goats. Past the land, the trees again grew tall though farther apart. Legolas could see wood and stone cottages, smoke rising from their worn chimneys. Small, dark figures traveled between the buildings and in one from another. In the distance, over the treetops, Legolas spied a golden horizon, the plains of Rohan.  
  
"We near the edge of these woods," Legolas said into the twilight.  
  
"Yes, indeed." Amoran agreed, urging Taszuluen forward and near the fenced livestock.  
  
"You shall find shelter here?" He asked as they descended the hill towards a dirt path that ran down the center of the fenced land. Amoran did not respond.  
  
"You should know of this land and its people," Amoran spoke abruptly out of her silence, amongst hooves upon the soft earth and snorts from the horses. "There are two villages. They used to be one in the same before two of the three founding families formed a row. The first's heir apparently tricked the second's unwitting and foolish only daughter into a . . .compromising difficulty, then refused to wed the girl. This was, of course, the end of a long list of trespasses, from the views of both. The villagers then split into the north and south, dividing their allegiances." She steered Taszuluen to the mouth of the dirt path. "This is the south and the village calls itself Green Hills, though the land is quite flat from here. The north calls itself Sun Valley. No, there is no valley.  
  
"The split was rather recent and wounds are fresh. Both peoples are extremely family centered. If you can't claim close relation to half of them and distanced to the rest, you are not welcome.  
  
"The north is the aggressor, though the south is not benign in its own right." Amoran jumped off of Taszuluen's back. Legolas and the rest dismounted, as well. She pointed down the dirt path. "Follow this road down the center of the village. Keep your hoods up; they will not dare stop you upon your path. Green Hills remains in awe of the Elves. Past the village two leagues, you shall come upon Sun Valley. This is the easiest path for your mounts to rejoin the road upon which we first traveled.  
  
"Pass through this village silently and with hoods drawn. Sun Valley has a dislike and distrust of your folk and is pinning blood. Once through this village you shall find a path cutting through dark trees marked with great X's upon their bark. These are to keep back the demon folk such as you. Here you shall find an easy path." Amoran paused and Legolas handed her a heavy pack filled with garments and food. She looked to Legolas oddly. "That is if that truly does not serve to deter you."  
  
"Nay," Legolas said with a smile. "It should only serve to anger that they have mistreated and scarred our friends so. They acted unwisely to so tempt my father's wrath upon them by marring those under his protection."  
  
Amoran nodded, hooking the pack over neck and shoulder. "Then there you shall find your path." She looked to the darkness of the sky and shadows that served to surround them. "May the night serve you well, as I hope it does me." Amoran's eyes rose from the earth to look uncertainly to Legolas. Again, she appeared to battle in thought.  
  
Finally she stepped forward, hands rising to cup Legolas' face. Unsurely, she rose upon her toes to offer a parting kiss. Legolas' hands moved to her elbows, then to encircle her waist, deepening the contact, attempting to rid it of the coldness and restore the familiarity and comfort. Abruptly, Amoran pulled away from the gesture, too soon for his liking.  
  
"Farewell," she bid simply, offering the others a glance in parting. Back from the path she stepped, tearing her gaze from upon them to the ground before her.  
  
Legolas moved to mount Alandal. He turned from upon the horse's back and saw Amoran run down the length of the fenced land to where the trees covered her form. Soon she was hidden from view.  
  
*Should we continue onward?* Ardel asked from his side, inspecting the reins and saddle Taszuluen was riddled with. Ardel's gaze rose and caught his own. He gestured to the bit. *This is cruel.*  
  
The path stretched out before them and Legolas led them onward upon it, Ardel and Verhute to his sides. Dirtied and dust-ridden upon the earth sat the leather bindings, saddle, and bit that had been Taszuluen's bane, left behind without care as the Elves had swiftly freed their sweet friend. Green Hills loomed quietly in the nigh distance, its people dark as shadows, and beyond them Sun Valley beckoned in the night.  
  
* * *  
  
Author's Note: No, this is not the end. I'm just bad. Oh, and the madness . . .Yes, it does have reason. I just was unable to find a way to explain it properly and convincingly in this chapter, but it should be explained or hinted to in the future.  
  
Please review and tell me what you thought. The reviews really do feed my muse. The next chapter should be another long one. I really look forward to writing it. In fact, once I'm done here, I shall go and write it.  
  
Cheers 


	28. Shadows in Sun Valley

Note that this chapter is rated R for violence.  
  
* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Shadows in Sun Valley  
  
* * *  
  
Green Hills passed swiftly as night finally fell. Its people froze at the sight of the Elves, eyes wide, mouths ajar. None dared cross their path. Trees grew tall and thick about them as Legolas' company traveled the distance between the opposing peoples. Two leagues passed quickly and as they approached Sun Valley they raised their hoods as Amoran had bid.  
  
In the distance, Legolas could hear crude, rough murmurings. As they drew nigh, the murmurings became sporadic and finally died.  
  
*There is a torch upon the ground.* Verhute noted, gesturing to some point near his horse's right. *Smoke still rises from it. It was recently dampened.*  
  
*There are Men in the trees and before us,* Legolas said, keeping his voice low and attention forward.  
  
*Aye,* Ardel added. *They plan to surprise upon us. Legolas?*  
  
*Slow,* Legolas ordered and the horses followed. *Perhaps they wish to merely observe us. If we present no threat, they may allow us to pass unquestioned.*  
  
*Perhaps.* Verhute did not sound convinced.  
  
*Change course?* Ardel suggested.  
  
*No,* Legolas said.  
  
*We are surrounded,* Beredil whispered.  
  
*They are no equal.* Belethil said with surety.  
  
*They have numbers and will.* Verhute murmured, his eyes scanning the trees above.  
  
*No more words. It distresses them.* Legolas ordered, traveling onward.  
  
The party of Elves grew silent.  
  
Men stepped out from behind trees perhaps ten yards before them. They held weapons of need; axes, knives tied to sticks, hammers. Some bore swords of iron and at least one held a bow in shaky hands with a half-filled quiver upon his young back.  
  
"Halt!" a man yelled, sword in hand.  
  
Legolas' horse was first to do so, at his master's will, and the other's uneasily followed.  
  
The man stood silently, his dark eyes flashing back and forth amongst the company, as if awaiting them to move. He was old; Legolas could make him out clearly in the dappled moonlight. His head was lacking most its hair and seemed to be making up for it by covering his face in side-burns, mustache, and beard. For his age, he had little patience, unlike the Elves he challenged. Soon he spoke.  
  
"Present yourselves." He grumbled, the mustache and beard quivering with the words.  
  
"We are mere travelers," Legolas spoke. "We wish you no harm. Can we not pass?"  
  
"No!" a boy to the other's side yelled to them.  
  
The older man held out a hand as if to restrain the Man-child. "Come now, boy, don't let them get to you. Patience now."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
The man cleared his throat but his voice returned just as hoarsely. "The boy's right. You can't pass here, see, until I give you the go. We don't welcome no strangers." He shrugged. "You move we have to go and kill you. This is our land, my land. You've been trespassing. We can't 'llow that here. No, not e'en for 'mere travelers.' Now give me yours name."  
  
"I wish not for this to come to blood . . ." Legolas began.  
  
"You speak pretty-like, all right, but I want a name and purpose. Now," The man said. "And lower yours hood. Slowly now. Yes, just like that."  
  
There was a silence as Legolas lowered his hood, with the party following. The Men all took a step back.  
  
"Demon folk!" another man exclaimed, the others nodding in agreement.  
  
"We are no demons," Legolas said sternly, fixing a glare upon them. "I shall endeavor to not become insulted but I may not be as willing to forgive ignorance again.  
  
"I am called Legolas. These are my fellows. We wish to merely pass through your settlement and return to our home. We bare no ill-will to you."  
  
"You can't pass," the old man spit immediately, raising his sword while Legolas followed the gesture.  
  
"I have presented you with both name and purpose," Legolas said slowly, as if bored.  
  
"No." The man straightened his shoulders. "And not with those beasts." He motioned to their horses. "You carry a plague. We wish none of it."  
  
"I give you my word . . ."  
  
The man scoffed.  
  
"I give you my word," Legolas continued, "that we carry no illness."  
  
"They come from the south," the boy whispered to the man. "They are in- league with our enemies."  
  
"They shall kill us all!" another voice whispered from the side.  
  
"Your word, Elf?" the man asked.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ha! I spit on your word!" He spat upon the ground.  
  
Ardel's horse moved forward and Legolas felt those behind him do the same. He held out a hand to halt them and the Men raised their weapons at the gesture.  
  
"We must cross here," Legolas continued calmly, attempting to swallow the other's insult. "The land to the south is unfriendly to our horses. We have little choice."  
  
"That there's yours problem!"  
  
"I would rather cross with your blessing."  
  
*You do not require their permission, Legolas!* Ardel hissed to his side. Legolas chose to say naught.  
  
"What did that one say?" Voices whispered.  
  
"What he say?"  
  
"Did that one talk?"  
  
"He's casting a spell!"  
  
"Kill 'em before they kill us!"  
  
"You can't pass here, demons. You aren't welcome. We aren't afraid of you! You come any closer to our village and we'll kill you, we shall." The old man said.  
  
"Do not threaten me," Legolas warned in a deadly calm tone.  
  
"I'll do what I want. Now turn yous around and go back where you come."  
  
"We come," Legolas said firmly, "from the Elvenking's Halls and we wish to return. Yet you place yourself foolishly in our path."  
  
"Elvenking, eh?" The old man asked and Legolas knew the actions to come and felt his throat tighten and close momentarily with the dread. He willed the man against the stupidity. "Know what I think of 'im?"  
  
Legolas closed his eyes, yet he heard the dead man all the same and the scream of blades being drawn about him.  
  
Oh, the fool.  
  
Legolas opened his eyes regretfully. His companions had all drawn their weapons. All save Verhute and Ithillian, who followed and awaited Legolas' instruction alone.  
  
"You dare insult my father and king in my presence." Legolas' eyes stole upon the men. Their weapons were held high as they obviously took for the ready. They could easily be slaughtered. That was not the challenge. The challenge would be to prevent such a bloodletting. "Very well. I would let you my mercy and pity this night. However, I no longer seek your blessing."  
  
The older man's eyes widened. His mouth moved, beard quivering, as he searched for words. Finally, he settled for raising his sword ever the higher, holding his jaw tightly shut.  
  
Legolas gave a silent nod in acceptance before pressing his heels lightly down and leaning slightly forward. His companions followed suit and the party charged forward, straight to those who would place themselves in their path.  
  
Men jumped from the hooves that threatened upon them. All save the foolhardy boy who stood his ground, not out of idiotic bravery but sheer shock and terror at the beating of hooves and Elves riding with gleaming swords drawn to their sides.  
  
"Felton!" the old man bellowed.  
  
The boy seemed to awake at the sound of his own name and he had just time to turn his head to the call before the horses were upon him.  
  
Legolas tried to pull back and aside to miss the young man but even his excellent horsemanship and reflexes could not save in the place of time.  
  
What would later feel like minutes in memory was truly mere seconds of recognition and dread. Ten yards was too close, too soon, too fast.  
  
There was a horrible crack through the night air, sounding as the breaking of a thick stick from under them. Legolas looked down as he felt the boy's head hit solidly upon his knee before breaking upon the ground underneath the galloping weight of Ardel's mount. Legolas watched sickeningly as Belethil rode forward and heavily over the crumpled body, and Ithillian following.  
  
Legolas' eyes flashed momentarily to Ardel's, who had followed the body as well, jaw held tight and eyes hardened. They both agreed in that moment; nothing could have been done.  
  
Legolas could sense something wrong, as a warrior senses a coming blow from behind in battle, and returned his eyes forward. At that moment both Verhute and he called for the horses to stop.  
  
A moment too late.  
  
Large men carried a long, thick tree trunk. They held it against opposing trees and perfectly high off the ground. Their dark eyes glittered in anticipation.  
  
Legolas felt the lurch as Alandal's front knees connected with the thick wood. The weight of the animal pulled him forward as Alandal met hard earth neck first, head twisting to attain a safer position. Legolas pushed off of the animal as they fell, launching himself forward into a roll. He came up on a knee without hurt, eyes back to the three horses whinnying upon the ground. Verhute stood a short distance back, bow drawn and arrow noched. Ardel lay flat upon the ground, sword still in hand, muttering below his breath.  
  
The air was filled with hoarse yells as Men, dark in the shadows, ran forward, arms raised with weapons in hand. Legolas quickly rose to his felt, unsheathing his sword in the process. He did not wish to harm them, he reminded, but he would protect himself and fellows.  
  
Two men ran forward, one with an ax raised, the other with a spade. Legolas turned as the shovel came down hard against the earth to his side. He grabbed the man's arm, tore it easily from the split, wooden handle, and twisted it. Legolas leaned back against the other's spine, arm between them, as he kicked the ax's blow aside and hit the other man upside the head with the flat of his sword.  
  
The man cursed, a hand rising to his ear. He rose the ax again awkwardly, taking several wide swipes; one very nearly dug into his companion's shoulder.  
  
Legolas knew there was screaming and yelling. Heavy footfalls upon the ground were distant and morphed, as if from all around him under water. There was the sounds of metal against metal; the wiz of an arrow hissing by. Where the sounds should have been dying away, it spoke ever stronger, enveloping. The yells for blood only grew louder and more insistent, frustrated, as they were repeatedly thrown aside, angered with non-fatal blows.  
  
Meanwhile, Beredil had rode forward, not dismounted as Legolas, Ardel, and Verhute had been. He grabbed the man with the ax by the collar, keeping tight grip as he turned his horse around and galloped back towards the now abandoned tree trunk.  
  
The man's arms and legs moved frantically, dropping the ax in the process. His feet were coming dangerously near the horse's back hooves as he struggled. He hit upon the fallen trunk with a heavy thud as Beredil's horse easily leapt over the obstacle, its rider throwing the man to the ground in the process.  
  
He lay silent and unmoving.  
  
Legolas pulled the arm of the man who still struggled against him, shovel useless in a hand. The man screamed as Legolas twisted the shoulder until he felt it pop.  
  
He fell to the ground moaning, his arm oddly loose and dragging in the dirt as he shuffled away.  
  
Legolas watched as Ardel hit another Man with the hilt of his sword, the blade stained in blood.  
  
The man fell unconscious to the ground.  
  
Legolas quickly joined Ardel's side, clean blade in hand. A man ran toward them, twin blades raised. The two Elves looked to each the other a moment. They looked back as the Man lunged for them.  
  
Both took a step aside and watched with some satisfaction as he tripped over the unconscious body upon the ground with a, "Humph!"  
  
They turned back to the other with little care for the attacker.  
  
*I cannot believe that the land to the south was more unfriendly than these.* Ardel said, looking to their comrades who were still avoiding blows and delivering their own.  
  
*Aye,* Legolas agreed. *This is unreasonable.*  
  
There was a shout from behind and they both turned to see the man rise from the ground with his blades.  
  
"You killed my son!" he yelled at Ardel. His eyes were brimming with angry tears. They slid down his face as he squinted his eyes and lunged at Ardel.  
  
Ardel jumped back, hands raised out, as the blades sliced through the air, arching to rip open his gut and missing within the width of a hair. The man lunged again, growling in fury.  
  
One tear across his cousin's cheekbone appeared, shedding a thin stream of crimson blood down his face. Ardel looked to Legolas with surprise and perhaps horror, not in face of his own injury but the sheer fury, hurt, and hate he had inspired.  
  
Legolas wished to help but knew his cousin wished to suffer this battle himself. His attention was momentarily stolen as a dark figure's knuckles connected with his jaw.  
  
He pulled back his sword arm across his chest and away from the other, swallowing instinct to open the other's belly to the cool night air, and brought the hilt of his sword down hard, a greater force than he had meant, and connected with the man's skull. The hilt came back bloody and with hair and flesh embedded.  
  
Legolas turned back as he heard a light cry from his cousin.  
  
Ardel held a hand upon the man's shoulder, the other arm to his side limply holding his sword. The blade clattered to the ground from nerveless fingers. Ardel's face was raised to the sky, eyes held tightly shut.  
  
The man pulled back the blade, a whimper sounding, either from Ardel or the other Legolas could not say. Blood shone black in the muffled starlight. That darkness enveloped Legolas' thoughts and the man's screams filled his ears. Legolas would protect his family . . . those he loved. He could not be held responsible.  
  
His sword was buried deep within the tree, deep within flesh. The man's back was against hard bark, tips of toes scratching against dirty ground. His face was to the sky, eyes shut, tears running down his cheeks. He gulped for breath, hands clenching and unclenching to his sides.  
  
Verhute appeared beside the tree.  
  
It was suddenly so very quiet.  
  
Legolas watched as Verhute looked to the man speared into the tree upon Legolas' sword. The man whimpered. Soon, he took his last breath with no words of parting. It was doubtful he could have given any if he wished, pain hot within his belly and blood upon his tongue. Verhute silently held upon the corpse's shoulders and Legolas pulled out the sword with a ringing pleasure; perverse as it be, he was dead and would never hurt again. Verhute let the body fall heavily to the ground upon the unconscious without ceremony.  
  
Legolas looked down to the blade of his sword, black 'til the hilt and carried within bloody fingers.  
  
*The blood!* Beredil said, as if speaking his thoughts.  
  
Legolas turned to see Ardel laying within Ithillian's lap, head upon the other's shoulder and watching him.  
  
*How deep is the wound?* Ithillian asked as Verhute fell to his knees to Ardel's side.  
  
*Merely a scratch, I assure you. I was foolish and lunged when I should have parleyed. Shameful. 'Tis all,* Ardel insisted with a smile.  
  
Verhute undid the other's belt and raised his tunics to see the wound. Beredil quickly rose to his feet, looking sickened and began calling to the horses, retrieving arrows upon the way.  
  
*For a hunter and warrior, he has no tolerance for our own blood.* Belethil said, taking the tunics from Verhute's hands and holding the cloth back as the other poked about the gash.  
  
Beredil returned shortly with the packhorse. Legolas still stood in his same steps. Verhute took wet cloths from Beredil and began to clean the wound.  
  
*Cousin, fear not, I shall live.* Ardel said with another smile, which turned to a grimace as Verhute poked once more.  
  
*For a moment,* Legolas' voice was unwilling to speak, *you were mortal.*  
  
Ardel frowned, then gasped.  
  
*That hurts!* He pushed away from Verhute's hand, which had began to cut away at the mangled skin.  
  
*We may have need to sear this wound,* Verhute spoke gravely.  
  
Ardel swallowed his complaints.  
  
Verhute continued with the barest curve of the lips.  
  
*Shall he need to be carried?* Belethil asked Verhute.  
  
Verhute allowed a small smirk while Ardel appeared insulted.  
  
*He may need another to carry his sword,* Ithillian murmured.  
  
Ardel twisted his head to look to his friend. His eyes spoke as if in betrayal.  
  
Loud steps fell upon the earth, a scurrying amongst dirt and leaves, a short distance away. Beredil again unsheathed his sword. Legolas merely turned to face he who would dare not keep his place upon the ground and play dead.  
  
"Look! Just look what you's done." The old man stood without sword, dried blood crusted upon his forehead. "Yous killed my men. Yous a killed a little boy. Leave. Take yours damn beasts and go. You've done enough here." He grew silent a moment, looking at the bodies about his feet. When he looked up, it was if he were surprised that they had not vanished into the night and from mortal sight.  
  
"Go!" he bellowed again and again. He screamed it as Verhute finished tending Ardel's wound with impressive skill and speed. It turned into a cry as they mounted their horses and into a howl as they sped off through the village, its shutters and doors tightly locked. And finally it grew silent as they met the path they sought.  
  
* * *  
  
The horses halted as they came upon the entrance of the path Amoran had bid them to. Trees grew tall and so close together as to appear impenetrable in the dark night. Upon their rough skin were carved crude X's. Beside the dirt path were stones stained red and appearing blooded in these shadows.  
  
Legolas urged Alandal forward.  
  
*My lord,* Ithillian spoke from the back of the company.  
  
Alandal stopped at command and Legolas turned in his seat.  
  
*It is quite important that we speak.* He paused, significantly moving his eyes to Ardel and back. *Alone.*  
  
Legolas looked uneasily about them. He did not wish to remain a moment further, blood dried upon his hands and concerns and hurt within his mind. Best to return home to his father's halls. Best be able not to turn.  
  
*Very well.* Legolas dismounted. Better to walk a short distance on foot than break formation.  
  
Legolas motioned for Ithillian to follow him to a stump of an old tree some twelve yards from the others.  
  
*Yes?* Legolas sat upon the stump, noting as Ithillian nervously kept adjusting the fall of his cloak.  
  
*There is a complication,* Ithillian informed broadly. Legolas rose a dark brow in question. The other continued, *The sword is gone.*  
  
Legolas looked up to Ithillian lamely. *Ardel took it, then.*  
  
*No,* Ithillian interrupted hesitantly, *I think not.*  
  
*Ithillian, if you do not believe Ardel has my fore-father's sword, then who . . .and how . . .and why did you let her!*  
  
The sound of fabric flapped in the air as the Elves turned at Legolas' tone. He looked to them a moment before rising to his feet.  
  
*Ardel, have you Oropher's sword?* Legolas asked across the distance.  
  
Ardel looked back in silence, before tilting his head to the side. *No, Legolas,* Ardel spoke finally.  
  
Legolas cursed so fluently as to make his father and Amoran proud. What a strange thought that presented.  
  
Ardel's gaze slid to Ithillian and took note of the other's shamed face and slumped shoulders. He sobered to the thought, *We turn back then?*  
  
*We must turn back and travel over the blood we shed, yes. Ai, I shall revel in the sight of my father's halls, yet I dread they and he if I should loose Oropher's sword to mortal hands.* Legolas turned back to Ithillian and the other stood the more rigid under his gaze. *Why have you not spoken before this moment?*  
  
*I reached for the sword in battle,* Ithillian pulled back the edge of his cloak to reveal a simple and practical hilt, *and unsheathed my own. This is the first moment I have been able to tell you, my lord. The girl must have known I would have been so familiar with the weight of my own sword that I would have thought no wrong. She is clever in her guile, yet I am in wrong, my lord. I beg forgiveness.*  
  
*Amoran, a plague on you,* Legolas swore to himself. The fierceness of the words however was lost to his tone. Oh, how could he have simply let her go? No, nothing between them could've ever been so simple.  
  
Did she truly think herself able to escape unscathed with his forefather's sword under her dress or in pocket? If so, she was a silly and foolish girl and it was a wonder she had survived so long in this same world.  
  
Or, mayhap, she knew that he would have to hunt down and find her, that he would be forced to come to her. Perhaps, she bid him good bye yet waited upon the path, sword in hand, thinking herself cunning.  
  
Yes, she was clever in her guile and was surely bidding distance with every passing moment.  
  
* * * Leaves spread out like innumerable fingers into the night sky. Branches creaked; reaching, stretching, hiding.  
  
Amoran hid beneath them.  
  
The night was cool, starless in its overcast. Moonlight filtered in hazy shafts through the strong branches and into the undergrowth. Amoran lay cheek-down upon the soft, damp earth, hidden amongst a crop of berry bushes.  
  
The weight of metal was heavy upon her waist and hard against her hip, and a cold phantom upon her skin. Hands clenched near her face into the dirt, taking a grounding comfort in the piercing filth as it seeped beneath fingernails and marked her palms. Her breath rustled small blades of grasses that dared to grow in the dimness. Dirt and blade bent and danced as she exhaled.  
  
Her eyes were turned to the west, away from the path, its town and people, towards where the sun had died what seemed like ages ago.  
  
Hooves beat in the distance, upon the path she had turned from.  
  
Amoran's chest began to burn as if some great weight were pressing down upon it. With a small rasping gasp, she realized that she had held her breath.  
  
Perhaps it was townsfolk, late coming home, she told herself. Yet the hooves came from the wrong direction and there were so many.  
  
And she had not seen a single horse within the village, odd but not noteworthy.  
  
It was the voices that caused her heart to ache. They were too beautiful, light and strong, innately male yet fine through and through. Elven voices one can never wrap their memory around. In the lacking one cannot truly remember what made them fair but recall that they were. Yet in the hearing memory calls again, knowing and wondering how it could ever forget.  
  
They drew nearer still.  
  
Amoran knew better than to think herself able to hide from their keen eyes in this shadowy night or from their keener ears, her breath ragged upon her lips. She knew that they had found Ithillian a sword wanting, knew that they came not for her now but the heavy weight she carried. Is that not what she wanted? Part of her leapt to the yea, yet the other quenched in sundered hope. Mayhap Amoran had been wanting to hide away with this not-so- little treasure. Doubtless a weighty fortune it would bring her.  
  
In soothe, she still did not know why she took it, only that at that moment, it was right and Amoran could have done nothing less.  
  
The voices grew silent as the horses stopped.  
  
"Amoran." The sound of her name in that voice caused her breath to hitch.  
  
It was suddenly so very quiet.  
  
Reluctantly she pushed off from the ground, rising to her hands and knees. Amoran half-expected strong hands and arms to wrap about her and help her rise from the ground. None came and with a breath she rose to her feet and offered a small smile.  
  
"Back so soon? Oh dear, miss me all ready? Or mayhap you found trouble in Sun Valley?" Amoran took a step forward, her gaze upon the horses' hooves nigh on the path, muddied and dark they were. "Or none, perhaps. You are afforded a midnight ride within your own woods, I think."  
  
"Amoran." It was repeated again and her sight rose to meet the figure mounted forefront amongst the familiar company. Something was wrong, this she knew within her bones and sinew. They were shadows, shoulders not held so strong or sure as the Elves she remembered. "You have something you have no claim to."  
  
Amoran furrowed her brow, "Yes, I always do."  
  
She saw with a blur as the shadow fell from the horse's back and suddenly it was before her. His bright eyes stared deep within her, his superior form seemingly bathed in moonlight. Amoran rose her chin defiantly, her face coming so near his own as he loomed before and above. Her eyes fell upon the crescent fall of collarbone below his throat. Something dark was splattered there. It could've been mud but she knew, knew it to be blood. Blood upon his throat, was all she could think.  
  
"What game are you playing, Amoran?" Legolas asked, his voice shallow and murmuring, a whisper of breath.  
  
"A game?" She smiled, biting the inside of her lip. "We play this game, Legolas. We. The rules are quite simple. Have we not spoken on this before? Yes, I take something of yours and you let me. Because you see that you truly never needed it and you let me it in turn. I take from you and shall you let me this?" Amoran paused, closing her eyes.  
  
Finally she opened them and looked into Legolas clear, bright own. He gazed back at her so solidly, that it was if looking into the eyes of an animal, not for ferocity but in untouchable sentience.  
  
At that moment, she could not fathom the workings of this Elven mind.  
  
Her eyes began to prickle and she pressed her lips tightly together tasting blood, the lingering taste could not be washed from her palate since the madness of those trees had fallen upon her. She still wondered if it be Legolas blood that lingered so, unwilling to perish and be forgotten.  
  
"There is a limit to my charity." Legolas finally spoke, his voice washing over her in its familiarity. "I cannot let you this. Hand me the sword, Amoran."  
  
Amoran gave a short nod and let loose her cloak. It fell dark and fluttering around her body to rest as a puddle about her ankles. Her eyes rose momentarily to meet Legolas' own, rising her arms to cross her chest, each hand grasping opposing shoulder, and, knowing his eyes upon her, turned her back to him.  
  
She waited.  
  
There was a pull upon the belt about her waist, given to her by Ardel with a simple request and fluttering of eyelashes. She felt the blade rustle her skirt as it was pulled from between belt and dress. For a moment, Amoran realized Legolas held a blade against her back. With surprise, she found no fear, for she knew it was not in him to bring hurt to her. If she had been in his place, Amoran knew she would have chosen to pull back and drive the blade forward.  
  
But Amoran could not hold herself to Legolas' heights. She could only better from them.  
  
The blade was soon merely a remembrance, a phantom touch, as Legolas withdrew it and sheathed it at his belt. Amoran listened to this, the ghost of smile about her face, twisted in her aimless thoughts.  
  
"Are you still there?" She asked, finding herself unsure if he had moved from behind her. There was no sound; there never was.  
  
"Always." He answered simply and she turned finding him standing where promised.  
  
"You did find trouble in Sun Valley, did you not?" Amoran asked, rising a hand to touch the dark splattering upon the hollow below throat. He let her. It was crisp, dried, most assuredly blood.  
  
"Yes. Blood was spilt against our will. Ardel has taken hurt." Legolas motioned back to the companions who loomed silently upon the path, heavy shadows.  
  
"Ardel has been harmed?" Amoran asked, her voice louder than she had wished. It was positively unthinkable for any of them to have suffered even a scratch. They were Elves; they were strong, and good, immortal, and above all untouchable by physical pain. Or so her mind liked to think. "You cannot possibly continue forward with him harmed. Was the blade poisoned? Those Men are ruthless in the kill. They have no code of honor when it comes to such things. The blade could be poisoned, and left untended, he may not heal . . .Mayhap he even die an Elven death!"  
  
Legolas appeared concerned at these words and turned back to his companions, brow furrowed. There was a rustle and soft whispering amongst them.  
  
"Your concerns are commendable, though unexpected . . ."  
  
"Though those Men have no honor in their fight, I have my own honor, Legolas," Amoran interrupted. "Yes, honor even amongst thieves. I have eaten at Ardel's table, slept beneath his father's roof. What am I but a savage soul if I were not to help him in turn if I can?"  
  
"And can you this, Amoran? Where are we to properly clean this wound? Where could Ardel find rest?" Legolas' voice was less interrogating than wearied, perhaps laced with fear.  
  
"The village nigh, of course. Green Hills will host us," she answered swiftly, turning southeast to look into the trees where she knew the village to reside before turning back.  
  
Legolas looked unsure.  
  
"Trust me this. I can find you, us, room and food for a night, perhaps two." She looked to the shadowy figures again, with their shoulders held less proudly than she remembered and saw that one was nearly hunched over upon himself, though he righted under her gaze. "Please trust me, for I have also eaten at your table and slept beneath your father's roof."  
  
"I trust you this, Amoran." Legolas said softly and Amoran realized that she still stood before him, so close; touchable. She gave a nod and waited for him to move, for it was not her place to walk before him. Amoran followed as he returned to the party, finding mount and choosing to lead the animal forward, no longer was it equipped for her ride. Truly, her place of now was clear. She led them onward, back towards Green Hills and perhaps away from her better judgment and past choices.  
  
* * *  
  
Please review and tell me what you thought. The reviews really do feed my muse. 


	29. Home, Sweet Home

* * *  
  
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Home, Sweet Home  
  
* * *  
  
The night's sky was smothered in blanket upon blanket of clouds, quickly blackening the trees and dirt, path and destination. All were stifled in this oppressive darkness. Yet through the blackened trees, squares of light could by spied by Amoran's eye, from the windows of the local pub, past tavern.  
  
The horses from the Elven party had been relieved of their loads and set to graze in the pastures amongst the sheep and goats, as the night promised to be, though dark, temperate. Thus, the party walked forward upon light foot, Amoran to the front, beside Legolas.  
  
"I had hoped to never walk this path again," she murmured as they approached the windows of light.  
  
Legolas looked sidelong to her, appraisingly.  
  
"What path do we walk, Amoran?" he asked, keeping his voice low, as if to share words merely with her, yet knowing all of the party to hear.  
  
She kept her eyes forward, jaw tight, her footsteps beginning to slow as they drew ever the nearer to the stone building. Dirt was smeared across her cheek from where she had lain upon the ground; her dress dirtied and hands twisting in her wrinkled skirt. He could tell no difference from this woman and the one who had been maintained in the acceptable. Both were one in the same, difference yet the mirror through which she was cast.  
  
"Not a welcoming one," she finally replied as they stood before the great wooden door. Scratches were embedded deep within the wood; chips of old paint, indistinguishable color, peeled from cracks and corners. Above creaked a wooden sign upon metal hangings, name left indeterminate from years and exposure.  
  
"The Tinder Block," Amoran said, not looking up though having spotted Legolas' gaze.  
  
She waited a moment outside the door, staring at the handle that gleamed from the window light. Amoran appeared unwilling to make any move near it. Laughter boomed from inside, voices mingling and rising and falling. Voices of men and women alike, some young and others ragged through years.  
  
Finally, it was Legolas who reached forward and pulled open the door with a creak lost in the cacophony of within. Amoran strode forward into the warmth of the pub, past Legolas and company.  
  
Her steps were shortened as the lanky figure of a young man tumbled past her, a muffled shriek from his lips.  
  
"Run, boy! Run!" a man's voice resonated, deep laughter following.  
  
The plump figure of a woman chased the lanky child, wooden platter in hand. Her face was furrowed in concentration, pinkish from emotion, eyes piercing as a bird of prey seeking out fear.  
  
The young man she was chasing gave a quaking sound of terror, bending like the child at heart he was.  
  
Laughter filled the room as many turned to watch the spectacle, women giggling into their wooden goblets, men hitting upon the table as an extension of the heady mirth.  
  
Yet, the child eyes searched the room for help, flickering from the hearth to figure to irate mother, and finally to Amoran. His eyes widened and the woman took the moment to bash him soundly across the side of the ear with the platter.  
  
"AI!" the child yelled, grasping at his bruised ear.  
  
The woman maintained a face of utmost disappointment and wrath.  
  
"AI!" the boy cried again, "Look, mum!"  
  
He pointed to Amoran and those who traveled behind.  
  
"Don't you try that on me, child! I've had far too many of ya' to fall for such mischief!" she rose the platter again.  
  
The boy collected his lanky form about him and cut past Amoran and through the party of Elves, Ardel and Legolas looking on in utmost amusement as the child pushed out the door, the others appearing silently entertained or charmed by the domestic spectacle. Beredil surreptitiously rubbed an ear in empathic remembrance.  
  
"Get 'em, Ciara!" the same man who had encouraged the boy's expedient departure urged her follow.  
  
"Nay, let him run himself silly," she grumbled her eyes fixing upon Amoran, patting the platter in her other hand. "You."  
  
"'Ello, Ciara." Amoran greeted, monotone, her eyes fixed upon the woman.  
  
The pub slowly grew silent, eyes focusing upon the two women as they held firmly onto each the other's gaze.  
  
"How's the children? Jasphine?" she continued.  
  
Ciara's face took on a guarded quality, knuckles turning white where they held the plate against her motherly bosom.  
  
"Now, don't you mind that," Ciara replied back in monotone. "What you want?"  
  
"Where's your husband? I don't see Daemon anywhere," Amoran said, her eyes searching the crowd. Eyes fell away from her gaze as if it could burn as she looked about the room.  
  
"I'm 'ere, woman," a deep, yet wearied voice called from behind.  
  
Legolas turned to see a Man so tall as to reach his chin stand just inside the doorway, one hand resting against the nape of the young boy's neck who had just wrestled through the company of Elves to escape.  
  
"Told ya, da," the boy said, his eyes flickering from between Amoran and his father. His ear was a vibrant red from where it peaked out from under his wild hair, tangled into a dark rat's nest.  
  
"That's a good man," Daemon said, patting the boy upon the shoulder before pushing him forward. "Go help your mother."  
  
"Daemon, please, not again. Think of the children. Think of . . ." Ciara broke off as if into a dry sob, taking up the arm of her son, who was just as tall as she.  
  
"Get along, woman. Leave 'er to me."  
  
"Good night, Ober," Amoran bid, not taking her eyes off of Daemon.  
  
"Ober's dead," Daemon said.  
  
Amoran's eyes widened and Ciara gave a greater sob, pulling at the arm of her son, platter hanging limply from a hand. The boy seemed to rise to his full height, his mother shrinking beside him.  
  
"I'm Midel," he said, a bitterness in his voice.  
  
"Oh, of course you are," Amoran murmured, her eyes falling but a moment before flickering to the boy's face. Quickly they fell away to Daemon.  
  
"Stay away from me, Amoran. J-just stay away, from me and my children. That includes Jasphine." Ciara quickly was led away by Midel, the two disappearing upstairs.  
  
"You brought Elves with ya, I see. I fear I should be more surprised. And I would be, surprised that is, if it was any woman but you, Amoran. I wouldn't be surprised if you led seven Dwarves through here, having convinced them you were some princess and this your castle. Aye, come along then. Bring your Elves with ya." Daemon moved across the nearly silent room toward a door to the side of a bar. Behind the bar stood a young man and even younger girl, both watching the Elves in wonder, giving Amoran not even a flicker of a glance.  
  
Legolas and his company followed behind Amoran who trailed a short distance behind the man. They were led through into another room, Daemon holding open the door for them all to pass through. As Verhute finally stepped into the greeting warmth of inside, Daemon stuck his head out the door and cried out in a booming voice, "Drink up then or get out!"  
  
There was a short silence but as the door closed the loud laughter and mix of discordant voices screamed from outside their room, louder than when they had entered.  
  
"If you've got a story to tell, Amoran, just get on with it," he said, wearily moving to sit in a worn chair beside the hearth.  
  
"Do I need a story?" she asked, moving to lean on the wall across from him.  
  
Legolas loomed towards the back of the room for a moment, observing. It was dark; no windows were cut into the wooden walls. There were several chairs, at least one of child size. A raggedy rug was strewn across the dusty floor, its ends frayed and center nearly worn bare. A strong fire crackled in a well-sized hearth at the end of the length of the room. Both Daemon and Amoran's profiles were illuminated as they stared off each other. Each appeared wearied; too tired to fight though they might have done so many a time in the past.  
  
Daemon grunted in answer to her words. "No, it'll just be lies."  
  
Amoran offered no defense to herself.  
  
Legolas chose that moment to speak, having felt Ardel hiss slightly in pain beside him.  
  
"My compatriot is injured. Please, may he sit?"  
  
Daemon looked up at Legolas' voice, his eyes flickering about the group of Elves as he spoke. He grunted again, gesturing to the chairs. "I fear we don't have enough for the lot of you but you're welcome to make use of what we have."  
  
"Thank you," Legolas said, moving forward, the others following. *Sit.*  
  
*I have no need,* Ardel objected, yet Ithillian pushed him down into a seat by his shoulder. Ardel winced at the jarring, finally glaring up at the other as Ithillian chose to stand behind the Elven lord.  
  
*Sit," Legolas said again in a more commanding tone and both Verhute and Belethil did so, taking up the only remaining seats. Beredil chose to stand nigh consumed in shadow near the outskirts of the room, observing. Legolas let him this as he moved to Amoran's side.  
  
Amoran spared him a glance, crossing her arms defensively over her chest, head bowed. Legolas was tempted to reach out, to touch her, yet swallowed the urge and instead took a step forward, into the light of the fire to face Daemon.  
  
"I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil, ruler of these woods. My cousin has taken injury in your neighboring village. Amoran has told us that we could find roof and meal and has led us here. We ask for your hospitality."  
  
Daemon looked to him blandly for several long moments, his chin nearly falling to rest upon his collar, eyes moving from Legolas' form to Amoran's. Finally he rose to his feet, turning the gesture into a sweeping bow, which could have been overly frilly in order of veiled insult or lack of practice.  
  
"You have it, my lord," he said, rising to his feet. "Amoran," she rose her heard at the sound of his name, "fetch Ciara. Tell her to mend several beds for your lords." He paused somehow causing the heavy silence on his part to almost sound as a tentative insult, yet before the added words. "If you'll need one in addition, mend your own."  
  
"I'd rather stay with my company," Amoran said.  
  
"Of course you would," he allowed. "Make up your own bed, Amoran. I won't allow nothing less under my roof. Now do as I say, woman."  
  
Amoran gave a small huff, whether in exasperation at his words or tiresome expectance of the deed, Legolas could not tell. Quickly she turned and dragged her feet across the room.  
  
The door opened, spilling laughter and booming voices into the room. When it closed, it was strangely quiet again.  
  
"She's not worth the trouble, you know," the man grumbled.  
  
Legolas looked to him silently. Daemon wished to speak with him alone. He sent Amoran off for that reason, this Legolas knew. He wondered on the Man's words. Would it be merely warning or would it be telling, as well?  
  
"She can make a man very happy but she can make him miserable twice over. She's rotten and spoilt. Nothing good can come from her. Well," he paused, "I take that back. Some good has come of that woman, fate willin'. But she can never be happy. Amoran doesn't know how to be happy and so she makes sure no one else is happy around her.  
  
"What's your business with her?"  
  
"None of mine, she had an owing to my king," Legolas answered.  
  
Daemon laughed bitterly.  
  
"She worked her way all the way up to the king, has she?" He laughed again. "That's Amoran for you. She's too stubborn and cruel to just die."  
  
"You would speak of her so, sir?" Legolas asked. "Has she no relation to you, or have your ties been twisted and torn so thoroughly that you would speak so unkindly of her, without her presence?"  
  
Daemon sobered, moving back to sit in the chair, looking to Legolas a moment, as if contemplating the politeness of sitting whilst Legolas stood, but with a shrug he appeared not to care and sat anyway.  
  
"She knows quite well what I think of her, m'lord. Yet, I challenge you to come across one who loves her more than I do that would not speak of her worse. I love her, sir. Yes, I do. I must because it is the way of things and that is why her blood is allowed in my house, at my table, beside my fire, and in my heart. I love her so, but I shan't say that that is a fine figure of a woman. No, she is anything but. My sister is a whore and a thief. She is a liar and manipulator. Above all, she knows what she is and continues all the same. Damn her for her misdeeds, and damn me for loving her still."  
  
"Do you not see a saving grace within her?" Legolas asked, not moving from the face of the fire, not caring for the ears listening yet finding the opportunity to speak with this man that could show a window into the soul of the woman that he could not truly have left behind of his own will.  
  
Daemon smiled. "Oh, yes. I could tell you that she was a sweet child, but I'd be lying like her. I could tell you that she was an innocent woman, not knowing of what she does, but again, I'd lie." He sighed. "But I suppose I should tell the truth. She is a woman caught in her own web. When she struggles against it, she only finds herself more deeply entangled. Amoran's tried in the past to do good, to be good, to . . .to tear some goodness from the world for herself. But it's only put her deeper into the worse of things. It's only taught her that nothing she does is right.  
  
"Don't go looking for any goodness or saving grace within her, m'lord, for if she lets you see it . . .well, you'll be damning yourself for loving her, as I now do. I look to her and see the child she was and the broken woman she is. Tell me, m'lord, what do you see when you look upon my sister?"  
  
Legolas tore his eyes form this man and cast them to the fire. The flames sputtered and licked the air, dancing in the chill of the night, feeding the warmth of the room. His ears ringed in the silence.  
  
Yet, the question whispered within it.  
  
What did he see?  
  
"I see," he paused, changing what he was to say. "I see a woman who I need to need me."  
  
"Ah," Daemon said, leaning back into the chair. "Then I've caught you too late."  
  
Legolas felt the words melt into his perception as he kept his eyes upon the flames, their dance mesmerizing.  
  
"Mayhap, you have," Legolas murmured, hearing footsteps approaching outside the door, the heavy fall consumed in laughter and voices. "Yet mayhap this shall not end the same. May one not change a decision made when it is found wanting? I find her wanting, and myself as well. May we then change a decision in hopes that it shall change the wrong?"  
  
"You don't talk to me, Elf," Daemon said, the door clicking open. "You're talking to yourself now."  
  
The overpowering sounds of the outside poured in upon his last words as Amoran stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Legolas turned his eyes from flame to her figure.  
  
She stood, eyes suspicious upon Daemon, face still marred in mud.  
  
Daemon cleared his throat loudly. "Beds ready so soon, Amoran?"  
  
"No," Amoran answered, her eyes turning to Legolas, "Ciara sent me away. Jasphine needed changing and she didn't want me near nor my help."  
  
"Ah," Daemon mumbled. "That'd be because she don't want you near and she don't need your help."  
  
Legolas watched as Amoran's jaw clenched, a tightness coming over her features.  
  
"Good thing I don't want to be near nor do I offer any help," Amoran said back, eyes straying momentarily from Legolas.  
  
"So you say, Amoran. So you say," Daemon pulled out a pipe from his pocket and grabbed a twig from the inside of his boot. He extended both towards Legolas. "Mind lightin' that for me?"  
  
Legolas looked down and took both from him, but it was Beredil who came forward and took both from his hands, bending to light the pipe for Daemon.  
  
"The son of an Elvenking, eh?" Daemon murmured, watching as Beredil went about lighting his pipe.  
  
"You wouldn't believe all I've been made to see," Amoran said, a twisted pride in her tone.  
  
"Ah," Daemon took the pipe from Beredil, "My thanks, m'lord." He looked up to Amoran. "Yes, I'm sure you've seen many a thing, Amoran. But at what price, woman?" He gestured with his pipe as if tipping his goblet to her before clenching the wood between his yellowed teeth with a clack.  
  
* * *  
  
Flames flickered from candle stubs spread sporadically about the room. Clouds remained overcast in the night's sky, stifling starlight and moon from the window's frame. Yet, Beredil and Belethil gazed out it all the same, weary soldiers ready to wait out the dreaded clouds in hope of a starlit glimpse. Proud shoulders bent as the brothers dreamed themselves away to friendlier flames and gentler voices, wishing for home amongst trees that had once been green and great. Behind them sweet voices of their brethren whispered.  
  
Ardel lay upon the sole bed, clad but in breeches and boots and binds. Dirty rags rested upon his sternum, untied and little more than useless, soiled and caked as they were. Ithillian sat beside him at the foot of the bed, examining and fondling the green fletching of a particular arrow, not from his quiver. Verhute finished untying his makeshift bandages with hands gentled through years, yet ever ready to bestow blow on fell creature.  
  
And Legolas leaned beside the only door into the small chamber, eyes worrying upon his cousin. His brow furrowed, arms firmly folded across his chest, a defensive gesture. He heard the light patter of feet running down the length of the hall nearing the door nigh. They fell silent just outside, before a light creak marked the small, slippered feet pawing the floor.  
  
With a last glance to Ardel, who lay silently upon the borrowed mattress, Legolas pushed back from the wall, wood creaking under the stress lightly. He opened the door.  
  
A small girl, yet to have seen her fifth summer, stood, arms laden in cloth, a small yellow gown pooling about her ankles. Her eyes drew wide and innocent as a doe's, head falling back 'til it could no more, little mouth opened into an awed 'o' as she looked up to the giant of a man before her.  
  
She giggled nervously.  
  
Legolas could not help but smile down upon the gawking child. He moved back, opening the door wide in invitation for the child to enter.  
  
A wide smile grew across the little face and she quickly took upon the invitation, eyes stayed upon Legolas, as if being swept away by feet not her own.  
  
"'Ello," the girl whispered as her feet finally came to a stop, just inside from the door.  
  
"Hello, little one," Legolas greeted, feeling lightened of hearth in the child's worshipful gaze.  
  
"'Ello," she said again in giggles, letter her dark curls fall across her fair face.  
  
"Can I take those from you, little one?" Legolas fell to his knees before her, cautiously reaching out to the linen toppling from her grasp. She allowed it with a gentle nod of the head, worshipful eye peeking at him behind a nigh-sheer curtain of hair.  
  
Legolas noted the layering of discolorings upon the rough scraps of linen, some marred in mortal blood, others bearing secret stains. Ithillian stood behind him, hands opened, relieving the load from Legolas' care.  
  
From Legolas' hands to Ithillian's, finally to Verhute's own, settling on the bed, separated mindfully from the soiled cloth, the bandages traveled. Legolas watched the journey, worry once again marring his brow.  
  
He turned back at the rustle of fabric and fall of feet as a small body threw herself into his arm.  
  
"I'm gonna sleep in here with you," the child enthused, the words muffled against his chest. "But we're gonna sleep on the floor 'cause your friend is hurt and he shan't move."  
  
"Baby," a familiar voice bid from the door.  
  
Legolas looked up as Amoran entered the room, a wooden bowl within her hands, placing her feet carefully as to not disturb its contents. If possible, the child clinged more forcibly upon him, her grasp as permanent and forceful as the flap of a butterfly's wing in his perception, and just as innocently enchanting.  
  
Beredil moved forward dutifully offering to take Amoran's load. Yet, he was met with a look obviously of no as Amoran stood before Legolas, resting the bowl protectively against her breast, looking down as the Elf cradled the grinning child within his arms.  
  
"Baby," Amoran said again, "You can't sleep with the Elves. Where's the bandages?"  
  
Baby gave some muffled answer against Legolas' tunic, slurred beyond even his hearing.  
  
"She diligently delivered her load," Legolas said for the child.  
  
"Ah," Amoran walked more hastily to deliver the bowl into Verhute's hands, beads of water glistening down the sides with the upset. "Good girl, baby. Thank you." She wiped her fingers upon her skirt, before folding her arms across her chest, beneath her bosom.  
  
"Baby, let go of Legolas."  
  
The child's grasp tightened momentarily, before pulling away, a pout upon her lips.  
  
"But I love him," the child said amid tears, her lip quivering, still within the ring of Legolas' arms.  
  
"Dear child," Legolas cooed, hugging the little girl to him again, tucking her dark head beneath his chin.  
  
"Baby, Legolas loved you, too. Don't you, Legolas? Now let him go, or else he shan't sleep and shall become very grumpy and shall yell."  
  
Legolas pulled back from the girl, gifting her with a smile as she parted with one of her own.  
  
"Good girl," Amoran said, grabbing the child's hand and bidding her to the door.  
  
The child never took her eyes from Legolas, solemnly waving a free hand as she was pulled away.  
  
"No fair!" the child whined with stomp of the foot as Amoran closed the door with her on the other side.  
  
Amoran and Legolas shared a glance, one berating, the other accompanied by a shrug.  
  
"Speaking of such," Amoran broke the silence," how fairs the Lord Ardel?"  
  
"I am well enough to speak for myself," the reply came from upon the bed.  
  
"As he speaks before his lord, I deem a fever upon him," Legolas said, smile fading to the melancholy gaze that now seemed to ever lace his countenance.  
  
Ardel scoffed.  
  
Amoran had moved to the bed during their exchange and now looked down upon the wound marring Ardel's fine form.  
  
"Oh, allow Legolas to think your impudence a sign of fever if it pleases him so." Amoran fell to her knees at Ardel's bedside.  
  
"Is that how you please him?" Ardel asked as Amoran outstretched a hand to his brow.  
  
Both she and Legolas looked to him sharply, while the others in the room found interest in dust motes and boarding.  
  
"Nay," Amoran answered. "My impudence is but the stumbles of one uncivilized and actions uncouth."  
  
"Yet, I remind you that you are a lady." Ardel looked to Amoran, her hand upon his brow, and though discomfort creased about their edges, his eyes remained bright and vital.  
  
"If only I had been born a lady," she murmured, "then mayhap I may not be accounted a liar within such bright eyes.  
  
"Eyes not my own, Amoran," Ardel said.  
  
Amoran sighed and looked down to the puckered wound.  
  
"It's poisoned, me thinks," Amoran announced tiredly, her head askance, weariness or the like driving her posture and movements lax. She reached out and poked around the edges of where the dagger had bore its way past Ardel's defenses. "Does that hurt?"  
  
Ardel closed his eyes. "Only when touched."  
  
"That's what I had thought. See the purple? It must be poisoned. Are you cold?"  
  
"No."  
  
Amoran appeared flummoxed.  
  
"No?" she asked.  
  
"No," Ardel said firmly.  
  
"You should be," she said.  
  
"Yet, I am not," Ardel stated, rising one dark brow at her words.  
  
"Hmm . . ."  
  
"Amoran?" Legolas asked, rising and coming to stand behind her right shoulder.  
  
"That's not usual," she said, looking firmly down on the wound as if it personally chose to defy her. "He should be shivering cold now." Amoran touched his forehead momentarily again. "Yet, he has a fever!" Finally, she turned to look up to Legolas, gestures broken and rigid. "I don't know how to stop it if it shan't perform properly!" She quickly rose to her feet.  
  
Legolas snatched her arm.  
  
"Then how shall we treat his wound? Shall we close it to the air and dirt and fell things or leave it open in fear of trapping the poison? The decision must be made quickly."  
  
"I know not!" Amoran appeared frightened to have him turn to her for such a decision. "Never have I seen an Elf poisoned. Mayhap he is unaffected by the poison and has fought it off as no Man could on his own. Or the poison could run through his blood with haste and kill him where he lay. I know not! He feels no cold! He burns in fever!"  
  
Legolas merely watched as blood drained from her face. She grew pale, a blush high upon her cheeks. Her eyes slanted and squinted in emotion. Legolas allowed a moment of silence to fall upon them, as he looked to her and he to him in confusion. The silence served to calm both their nerves and allow Legolas to ponder the decision between them.  
  
"I know not," she murmured, "and he may die for it."  
  
"I choose to believe that the poison is no match for Ardel. No matter the decision, he needs food and bed. Rest shall serve him well. We shall close the wound," Legolas said, calmly, taking her other arm and turning her to face him.  
  
"No!" she exclaimed too loudly, causing both she and Legolas to flinch. "No, not until I speak with Ciara. Perhaps, she may know more than I. She knows much. Much more than I." Amoran began to pull back against Legolas' grip. She looked to the door longingly.  
  
Legolas let go his grip on her and she swiftly walked to the door, pulling it open and walking through. She turned swiftly, holding onto the edge of the door, keeping it between her and Legolas, a wooden shield to her fears.  
  
"Do not close that wound," she pointed a finger at Legolas, face stern, promising pain if her words were unheeded. The door closed with a bang, her feet sounding loudly as they ran down the hall, her voice calling out, tempered in alarm.  
  
* * *  
  
He followed her.  
  
Legolas knew not the why at the moment of his decision, yet he followed all the same. Ardel lay calmly upon the mattress, wound bared to the world, speaking softly to Ithillian who sat silently at his feet. Legolas envied that calmness. He wondered if bound to his own possible deathbed he would find such a peace within himself. Many a battle and blade and bow had he faced, yet never had the thought of his own death happened upon him. It was unnatural, unthinkable, untouchable. It was something so definably mortal.  
  
And he had to follow her.  
  
Amoran's steps had long fallen from board to board, but finding her was no chore. He always knew when she was near, a familiar awkwardness of a presence, a stumbling heartbeat. Legolas followed this beat out into the night, a stillness heavily enveloping him.  
  
"Go away, Amoran."  
  
The two, Ciara and Amoran, stood to the side of the Tavern, between one wall and tree stump, gleaming ax embedded. He doubted either saw or heard him, mistaking him for air and shadow. Legolas took no measures to be unseen and thus excused himself overheard words, yet guilt and conscious panged him, only to be laid aside.  
  
"I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Ciara laughed bitterly. "You're no where to be found when wanted, but ever knowing the worst of moments to rear your ugly head. Bless you your mislead soul. You can't have her."  
  
"I didn't come for her."  
  
"You never know what you want. I'm just telling you before you get thoughts."  
  
"I don't deserve her."  
  
There was a silence as the two women looked tiredly between each the other, a steel gaze of stubborn souls. The silence was familiar between them.  
  
"More importantly," Ciara said, "she doesn't deserve you."  
  
It was Amoran's turn to laugh. "No one does." The brokenness in her heart bled into her voice, tearing into Legolas as if it were his own. He was willed to comfort her and comfort himself in turn.  
  
"We love you."  
  
"You don't love me, Ciara," Amoran scoffed.  
  
"That's true. Yet, my children and husband love you, in soothe," Ciara said gently.  
  
"Forgive me that."  
  
"We're all allowed our weaknesses."  
  
Amoran laughed again, bitterly. "I am one big weakness."  
  
Ciara moved towards Legolas. She paused, seeing him. She held his eyes, a strength in her, while calling back to Amoran. "There must be something holding you together."  
  
"Whatever it is can't last forever," Amoran said back, refusing to look to Ciara as much as she her.  
  
"Hmm," Ciara wiped her hands upon the dirtied apron tied around her ample waist. "I'll go tend your friend now," she said directly to him. Amoran turned at this. "Don't worry. Elves are meant to last forever. I'm sure he'll be fine."  
  
Quickly, Ciara sidestepped Legolas and was gone.  
  
Amoran finally saw him but she focused upon the ground instead, finding it easy and familiar. She never looked up to him as she swiftly crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. After a moment, he closed an arm around her shoulders, running a comforting hand from temple to neck and back again.  
  
"Just to see if I still could," she said, her words muffled by his tunic. She seemed to consider. "I could love you like this."  
  
Legolas moved to rest his forehead on the top of her head. Her hair was giving beneath his skin, a familiar feel.  
  
"'Tis true," he murmured, "we are all allowed our weaknesses."  
  
Amoran pulled back, her eyes finally seeking out his own. "Make more of me."  
  
Legolas knew not what to say to this, instead choosing to lightly place a kiss upon her pliant lips. He pulled back yet she pressed her lips to his again. Finally she sighed, a dejectedness about her.  
  
"I thought you'd say that." Amoran momentarily sucked on her lower lip in consideration. "Then command me, make me a slave to your will. I think it ever the purer and stronger, as I have no will of my own."  
  
This caused Legolas pause. Such a thought saddened him yet he could find no words of denial on his lips.  
  
"We shall speak once Ardel's health is assured."  
  
"Dawn morn," she said.  
  
"Morn shall dawn either way," he said, releasing her and turning to the tavern.  
  
Amoran grasped his hand and followed.  
  
* * *  
  
Please review and tell me what you thought. The reviews really do feed my muse. 


	30. Debt and Promise

* * *

Chapter Thirty: Debt and Promise

* * *

Dawn rose bright in promise through the ober haze. Amoran watched the broken rays dance upon the wooden floor. Most of the family had long awoken. One of Ciarra's older daughters was directing the kitchen down below and bellowing her sibling about in a tone to do her mother proud. Ciarra, herself, was inside the room that Amoran sat outside.

            Waiting.

            In the hall, her back against the wall, she could hear choice words and the clatter of bowls and the scuff of the other woman's feet. Amoran's heart was lightened to hear Ciarra laugh from within. She liked Ciarra's laugh, though she rarely heard it herself. Ciarra was a good, loving woman, slow to anger and even slower to hate. She only hated a select few, those she saw as a threat to her family.

            Amoran was one of the few Ciarra hated.

            She looked up from where she sat on the floor as the door opened. Ciarra's voluminous skirts preceded her out. She was smiling and pushing an errant strand of hair –gray, too gray- behind an ear. She looked down on Amoran and her smile faded. It became sad.

            It was in such moments that Amoran doubted Ciarra was truly capable of hate.

            "He'll be fine. I told you that Elves were built to last forever. It's their nature; the flow of things, really," she said.

            "What of the fever?" Amoran asked, folding her hands atop her knees. 

            "Broke the poison all by his lonesome, I say. Burned it right out of him; needed no help from the likes of us. He seems right pleased with himself, cheating death and all. I think I like that one." Her eyes took on a far away quality. "I particularly like his name. Ardel." She seemed to taste it on her tongue. "I think, if Daemon and I have another son, I shall name him Ardel. Do you think he'd be pleased?"

            Amoran laughed softly.

            "Elves have superior hearing. I have no doubt he's heard the lot of what you've said."

            "Hmm . . ." Ciarra murmured. "Walk with me, then."

            Amoran looked to the door. "But . . ."

            "He'll come and fetch you if he needs you."

            "All right," Amoran reluctantly agreed. She rose to her feet and dusted off her skirt. Legolas would want to spend time with Ardel. He was family. Most people cared about such things of the like. 

            "I'm going to put you to work," Ciarra announced as she walked away, her expectation of Amoran to follow as good as a command. The words caused a shiver of fear to run down Amoran's back.

* * *

Amoran swept the floor and washed the tables. She disliked how the children watched her as she went about her business but tried to ignore it the best she could. Yet, when a child's cry came from overhead and Ciarra appeared momentarily on her way to answer, Amoran asked for a chore outside.

            "Yes, yes," Ciarra said distractedly as she climbed the stairs. "Tend the chickens."

            Amoran now held one basket to each of her sides, one filled with feed, the other empty. She used to fill her pockets with the feed. She had liked the heavy feeling and used to imagine it was gold. 

            Amoran made use of the baskets now. She knew what gold felt like and it wasn't the same.

            Her mind wandered as she entered the small, fenced in area outside a shack, used as a chicken coop.

_"Do you love him?" Ciarra had asked as she'd set Amoran about her work. Amoran had been surprised and shocked. Surprised as she had not expected the question to be asked in the midst of Ciarra's rant about candle wax and shocked because she had never asked _

_herself__ it before. _

She still lingered upon the conversation.

_"What kind of a question to ask is that? Who?" she had quickly responded._

_            "Who!" Ciarra laughed. "Who, she says."_

_            "Yes, who?"_

_            "That Elf, of course."_

_            "Legolas?"_

            _"Mm-hmm.__ I hate when you play dumb, Amoran," she'd said. "You aren't a dumb girl. And dumb doesn't suit you."_

            _"Do you love Daemon?" Amoran had asked._

_            "Don't skirt the question."_

_            "I'm not. Do you?"_

_            "Yes," she'd said, idly scratching candle wax from the grain of the table between them. "I love your brother."_

_            "What's that like?" Amoran had asked._

The chickens clucked and ran excitedly about her feet. She tried not to trip upon them but knew it was inevitable with them squawking and running about as they were. It was almost as if they had not been fed in days. 

            "Hmm," she murmured.

            Amoran remembered Ciarra's look of pity. She had quickly told her to sweep the floor and left. She never did answer.

            "You are pelting the poor animals. What did they ever do to you?"

            Amoran's hand froze mid-throw and she let the grain fall from her hand like she was supposed to. The grain bounced upon the ground, mixing in the dirt, to be quickly pecked at and consumed.

            "Like flower petals," she said to herself.

            "Flower petals?" Legolas asked, sidestepping the chickens without effort. Something about Legolas amongst chickens made her want to laugh, but she didn't. She didn't want to have to explain.

            "When my mother taught me how to feed the chickens, she told me to drop them like they were flower petals. You don't throw flower petals."

            "Or pelt chickens," Legolas added.

            Amoran grinned. "Have you ever tried?"

            Legolas looked momentarily scandalized. Amoran thought he was joking and laughed, though she truly wasn't certain.

            "You strike me as a princeling who sat around pelting chickens with rose petals – from the royal gardens, of course."

            "I shall refrain from dignifying that," he said quite seriously. She then knew he was jesting.

            "Guilt is silent," Amoran said in her most pleasant of voices. She had meant for it to come out light-hearted; it came out mocking.

            "Do you think mine are a guilty people?" he asked.

            "What?" she uttered as more of a reaction than actual question.

            "You asked me once why Elves were such a silent people. Do you remember?"

            "I-." Amoran searched her memories for what specific event he made reference to.

            "The night upon the hill," he helped.

            A memory came to her.

_She remembered it had been cold. She'd smelt the smoke from the fires so near, tinged in the scent of flesh; Human flesh. She could taste it in the air. She'd been sickened because it had made her hungry. She was angry and so very tired. Amoran had been speaking to Legolas through the night. He had asked her about Halla and she had become so angry. It seemed foolish in retrospect but it had made sense then. But she'd come back and spoke to Legolas and for the first time he had really spoken back. She could hardly remember specifics of what was said now, but she remembered the feelings._

_            She remembered feeling needed and happy and smart. She remembered being cold and sick to the stomach, but not caring. She remembered the silence that followed after they'd thought they had said all they could have for one night, and perhaps a bit more, a bit more they shouldn't have said._

_            "Why do you favor silence so?" she remembered asking. Amoran felt oppressed by the silence. Prolonged silence made her feel guilty._

            _"There is only so much one can say; only so much one can do. When all that can be is said and done, only silent introspection is left," he had answered._

_            "You're all such a silent people," she had murmured, bundling herself in the folds of her new cloak from the cold._

"Are we a guilty people?" Legolas now asked.

            Two chickens squabbled over a particular pile of feed. Legolas looked to them sideways, an eyebrow raised, amused. A third, larger chicken pecked the other two from behind and took the feed for its own. The two seemed not to notice and went on bickering.

            Amoran laughed nervously, upending the basked to the chickens' delight. She looked to Legolas sideway and nudged the chickens off her feet and out from beneath the hem of her skirt. "What I think matters little, no?" She turned back to look at him, foolishly walking backwards. "Wouldn't you be the best judge?" She nearly tripped over a chicken and momentarily flailed about before catching her balance. Amoran glared at the offending poultry. Legolas chuckled. She felt a blush burn across her face and gave a curse to the cool morning air, merely for its existence. Quite often, she felt as graceful as mud around him, and hated when it was exacerbated through her own neglect. 

            "It is not wise to judge one's self. I cannot see all sides at all times, Amoran," he said, smiling at her fondly.

            "Yes," Amoran dropped one basket to the ground. She looked meaningfully at him before moving towards the chicken coop. 

            Amoran bowed and entered through the small side door. Legolas had to crouch before entering, somehow accomplishing it with the same casual and refined ease that was bred into him. She looked about her a moment. Nothing had changed since the last time she had been there. The shack was family. She sighed.

            "I think your people feel guilty that you live while others must perish." She began to collect the eggs. They felt warm within her grasp and a part of her didn't want to place them in the basket but just as she placed them away, she grasped another.

            "What guilt weighs the heaviest in you, Amoran?" Legolas asked.

            Amoran paused before pushing a chicken rudely aside and stealing her eggs. "I killed Jasphine's father . . . Most likely . . . Definitely." She dared not look to him, his silence more than enough. "I stabbed him through the breast and tied him to a tree. But he wouldn't let me go. I had no choice. He wouldn't let me go. I tried to run in the night but I couldn't. Whenever we'd stop walking, he'd tie me to a tree and there I'd stay." Amoran sighed and looked to Legolas; she'd have had to eventually. "I had no choice but I feel guilty all the same." 

            "How did you meet him?" Legolas asked, tone even, folding his arms across his chest.

            "A caravan I had been traveling with for nearly three years," Amoran answered. "We were entertainers and merchants."

            "And thieves," Legolas added lightly.

            "Of course," she said. "He was a swordsman."

            "How did it happen?" he asked as she turned back to the chickens.

            "He convinced me a man I was close to was planning my death. He was very strong and ever there. Now that I dwell on it, I believe he was following me. Yet, whenever I needed him, he was there. I began to trust him and he planted doubt and suspicion in me. By the end, I was convinced the whole caravan was turning a blind eye to my assassination. I've heard of it happening, when there was one member that the group wished to do away with; quietly, quickly. I fumbled one night and was caught. The leader of the caravan –Jez, he called himself- had to profusely apologize and put on a show of my punishment. It took a great deal of expensive mead to convince the lowly lord that the trespass was but a misunderstanding. By morning's dawn, the lord was apologizing to me, calling me Madame Matilla all the while. But Jez was far from amused. 

            "We stole away together the next night. Then I began to realize that I may have been mistaken. I told him I wanted to go back. He wouldn't let me. He dragged us on for endless miles, into the night. It was painful and exhausting." She turned quickly to look at Legolas. She hadn't told anyone about Jasphine's father. Ciarra had supposed it had been some drunk, faceless bread-ticket. As did all those that knew of Jasphine's true mother. "He wasn't insane. He wasn't. That was what scared me the most. Insanity I could've accepted. Insanity was not as dangerous. But he was perfectly sane. He had plans and that frightened me. He knew where he was going and what he was doing. I didn't. I killed him. But I had no choice! You see, do you not? 

            "I felt guilt all the same. I found the caravan and found myself with child, his child. I took his life and of that I was sure. It was an act below me. I am not a murderess, Legolas. It was not the first time I found myself with child, but we have our ways. I chose to bear him a daughter. She is my pay, my absolution. I take his life, and bear life anew. You see? Do you not? It is our justice."

            "I pity you, Amoran," Legolas said.

            "I don't need pity, Legolas," she spat, turning back to the chickens.

            "You have mine." 

            She paused for a moment, before shaking her heard and pushing a chicken aside. Amoran laughed shortly.

            "What is it?" Legolas asked.

            Amoran's laughter choked off and she cleared her throat. She didn't turn but leaned against the side of the chicken coop for several moments. Finally, she turned and looked back. She sighed. "I'm done." 

            And she ducked from the shack. 

* * *

As they approached the tavern's door, loud voices could be heard from within. The door swung open and Ciarra's older daughters fairly fled out of it straight towards Amoran and Legolas. As the oldest moved to rush past her, teary eyed, Amoran reached out and grabbed her wrist. The younger held upon her sister's other hand, her face pressed against her arm.

            "What's happened?" Amoran interrogated.

The young woman's face twisted up as if to hold a sob as she looked back towards the tavern, pulling her wrist from Amoran's. 

"Midel and pa," a shaky hand raised to cover her quivering lips as her sister beside her squeaked. Amoran tried to wait patiently. Finally she waved her hand with annoyance. "Something's wrong. They're talking with ma."

"That's all?" Amoran sighed, glancing back at Legolas. He seemed thoughtful, looking up to the door still ajar. 

"No," she said.

"Momma yelled at us," the little girl added.

Amoran snorted and walked on towards the door, ignoring them. Legolas turned to the girls with an indulgent smile before following her.

"This is just grand! Grand! Absolutely brilliant!" Ciarra's voice bellowed as she walked around the tables, stopping once to fix a candle. By her tone, she obviously thought otherwise. Her face darkened at the sight of Amoran. "Ah, and here's the tart of trouble." 

"Now, Ciarra," Daemon said in a half-hearted attempt at sooth. He leaned upon the bar, head in hands. His son stood to his side, fairly glaring at Amoran.

"You!" Ciarra quickly approached, throwing a hand towel on a nearby table, knocking the candle again askew. "You! By God, woman, how do you manage it? Don't you tire of this? Does this please you? Speak, why don't you!" 

"As soon as you take a breath, Ciarra," Amoran bit out the words angrily.

"What has she done?" Legolas asked, looking to Daemon for answer. The man wouldn't answer. Midel opened his mouth as if to give an explanation.

"What has she done?" Ciarra laughed. "All but that I knew she would." She walked up to Amoran till their breasts nearly touched. Amoran folded her arms. "Bring the axe down. Undo all the good we strive for every day in our simple lives."

"I do not see how, Amoran, could do that," Legolas calmly interrupted.

Ciarra snorted with a frown and rolled her eyes. "Of course, you wouldn't."

"Sun Valley," Midel began before his mother interrupted.

"Yes, Sun Valley, Amoran. They say they're going to raze us to the ground! What did you do, woman?" Ciarra's face was nearly red in anger.

Amoran took a calming breath before opening her mouth to answer.

"Nothing," Legolas answered. "I am responsible. Amoran had nothing to do with them."

Ciarra sidestepped Amoran and looked up at Legolas almost in pity, her face twisted alike her eldest daughter a moment before. "But you're here because of her. She has done you just as much harm as us."

"Enough!" Amoran yelled, causing Ciarra to startle. "Enough of this!" She backed away from Legolas and Ciarra near the end of the room. She tried with great will to hold back tears. She glanced to Daemon and Midel, allowing herself a moment. 

"You blame me for everything," she hoarsely uttered. "Everything is my fault! I had nothing to do with Sun Valley, Ciarra!" 

"Amoran," Daemon tried to interrupt.

"No! I am not done! I shall have my word!" Amoran growled threateningly.

The room was silent. Unknown to Amoran, Ardel and Ithillian were walking down the stairs carefully, looking to Legolas for guidance. His eyes flickered to them a moment before moving back to Amoran. They stilled where they were.

"We're waiting, Amoran," Ciarra pointed out.

Amoran drew a ragged breath.  

"You blame me for things that I am responsible for. Yes, I make mistakes that hurt people. I hurt people. You can blame me for that. But don't you blame me for everything that hurts. You blame me for things I cannot possibly have control over! At least be consistent, Ciarra." Amoran smiled ruefully. "Blame me when the floorboards creak. Blame me when the roof leaks and the hearth smokes. Oh, and I am to blame when the milk sours and the eggs turn rotten." She dropped the basket of eggs on a near table.

"Don't forget the table wax," Ciarra added in a low, threatening tone.

Amoran laughed without humor.

"How could I!"

"Come now, Ciarra, Amoran" Daemon rose from the bar and moved towards Amoran. He stopped at her vicious stare.

Amoran turned the stare on her brother's wife. "You say I don't take responsibility for my actions. You say I do not regret my ill chosen turns. Yet, look to yourself, Ciarra. It's easier to tie them all to me. As my fault, it's not your own and you don't have to take responsibility as long as you blame me.

"I have enough responsibility and blame for my stumbling. I shall not carry yours, as well!"

"Don't forget that I carry your responsibility, Amoran, every day. Don't you raise your voice to me while Jasphine sleeps under my roof." 

The two women shared silent, angry glares. 

"Then I shall take her back," Amoran said, turning quickly and running to the staircase.

"No!" Ciarra said, taking off after her. "You shall not!"

Ithillian pulled Ardel to the side as Amoran tore up the stairs, her feet banging loudly. Ciarra ran after her, carrying her skirts in her hands, horror on her face. 

"I'll kill you, Amoran, before letting you take her! I swear on my life!" Ciarra screamed, lunging to grab the trail of Amoran's skirt but missing. 

"Midel," Daemon called to his son. A door slammed from above and the ceiling rattled. "restrain your mother from murder."  

Midel nodded and took up the stairs, apologizing swiftly to Ardel and Ithillian. 

Daemon looked to Legolas tiredly, stuffing his calloused hands into his coat pockets. He sighed heavily, his eyes straying out the open door.

"Forgive me if I rue your coming," he said in a gruff voice. Reluctantly, he looked back to Legolas. "It throws off our balance. These are your lands but this is my family. It's my duty to protect them."

Legolas bowed his head, placing a hand to his heart. Daemon nodded before walking out the door, lazily, as if studying the sunlight filtering through the broken clouds. 

*Legolas . . . * 

*You should not be out of bed, Ardel, * he said plainly.

*We are to stay, * Ardel said more than asked.

*Yes, * Legolas answered in turn.

*Ardel cannot fight, * Ithillian said, watching with obvious concern as Ardel descended the stairs. Legolas smiled.

*I can-- *

*Ardel can help. * Legolas looked to them sadly. 

*My lord, forgive me but is this of our concern?* Ithillian asked, flinching as Ciarra's voice resonated particularly loud. The ceiling boards shook and dust settled into the air. 

*They threatened us. We had no choice.*

*We shall stay the night,* Legolas stated in a voice softened by consideration with an edge of authority. Distractedly, he turned and followed Daemon's path out the door, eyes on the surrounding woods.

Ardel and Ithillian exchanged a glance before ascending the stairs. They stopped short as a baby wailed from overhead and Ciarra's voice raised about it. ("Are you happy now!") Both turned and decided to sit at one of the empty tables. Ardel looked to the bar thoughtfully and with odd consideration.

"Ale," Ithillian sighed, longingly staring out the door. Ardel shivered at the word. 

* * *

"Can you hear them?" Amoran asked, folding her arms below her bodice. 

The night had fallen lacking breeze and chill. It was the beginning of summer and both she and Legolas stood without coats, though only for her was that remarkable. 

"They are angry," Legolas said simply, standing upon a branch above Amoran's head, leaning lazily against the trunk. 

"They're a violent people; always on the edge of conflict. They needed only a little push," she explained.

Legolas said nothing.

"Ciarra doesn't blame you," Amoran said, as much as for something to say.

"I regret," Legolas' words fell from above. Amoran waited several moments, as long as her patience would allow.

"Yes?" she prompted.

"That is all," he explained. Amoran more sensed a sigh, she had grown so accustomed to his articulation, than heard one. "I regret."

"Legolas, I say this with the utmost respect and . . ." she paused for the word to express her emotion and settled for more hollow words than the feeling felt, "care for you: let go."

There was a silence from above.

"Do you expect to carry eternity on your shoulders? If you can't do that, then distract yourself. Nothing is better for the mind than its body's action."

"Amoran?"

"Yes?"

Legolas' hand fell on her shoulder and turned her to face him where he now stood. Never would she become accustomed to that. Never.       

"They are coming," he said ominously, pulling her with him as he already moved to return to the tavern.

* * * 

Many men of the town had gathered at nightfall in the tavern. Over untouched or drained mugs of ale (there seemed to be very little of an in-between), voices bickered and disagreed on the manner to treat Sun Valley's threat. Their talk had turned to mean nothing as Legolas' warning was received and spread throughout the village folk. Women shuttered their windows and hoarded their children. Men set about with general quiet as they gathered together with what weapons they could.

The horses pawed the ground in unease and tossed their heads, sensing the discontent and wait in the dusty air. Hay was sparse around the small stables where the Elves' horses had been housed. Daemon and Ciarra had said nothing of it but many signs pointed to it being dire times. 

Beredil and Belethil were outside the barn, assisting Daemon with fairly draining the well, at Legolas' order. Ithillian was readying both his own horse as well as Ardel's. Legolas was idly brushing his steed with long, absent strokes, while Ardel spoke from where he sat amongst the packs, with Amoran to his side. 

*We have no need for such an abundance of rations,* Ardel murmured while sorting through a specific pack before him and handing back palmfulls of dried meats sliced in shriveled strips to Amoran.

*Until we are again delayed,* Legolas brought to attention, placing the brush aside. 

*We have no reason to be further delayed,* Ardel said resolutely, handing two more palmfulls back, which Amoran tossed into another sack without thought; her eyes and mind were far away. 

*Always prepare for the unforeseen,* Verhute said from where he stood amongst the rafters, keeping solemn watch through a small, shuttered window.

*If you prepare for the unforeseen, you are inviting it,* Ardel replied, fastening the pack made much lighter for his attentions.

*It has been my experience that the opposite rings truer,* Legolas said, giving his horse one last pat before turning his attentions to Taszuluen, the horse that had once bore Amoran as an equal amongst the company. *I would much rather return home with a full belly and even fuller pack than wearied and half-starved.* He looked over the sack in Amoran's hands. *Replenish some of our reserves, dear cousin.*

Ardel sighed and reopened his pack while Legolas seemed to look at Amoran thoughtfully from beside Taszuluen. She seemed unaware of his gaze and was slightly started as Ardel began digging amongst the sack in her hands and retrieving a small portion of the rations. 

"What are you pondering so, Amoran?" Ardel asked, about to close the pack again. At Legolas' hard stare, he added another palmfull before closing the pack.

She hesitated and Legolas knew she considered whether to answer Ardel's question with the truth or a more pleasing lie. Amoran avoided his gaze while she spoke, something she never did when she lied.

"I was remembering the halls of your king," she answered, folding over the edge of the sack in her lap. "I remember . . .much." Only then did Amoran's eyes meet Legolas' own. She flinched but did not look away.

Ardel looked uneasily between the two while a strange stillness settled like the dust about them.

"I'm very confused," she finally said. "And I don't know what other way to be."

"How does that have to do with the Halls of Thranduil?" Ithillian asked, still busying himself with the horses and apparently unaware of the heavy air.

"Everything," Amoran answered with a pointed gaze at Legolas before rising to her feet and leaving the barn with the sack limp to her side.

* * *

In the dead of night, screams and shadows rose from the depths of the forest. Fires were lit and flame spread. The sheep and livestock were the first to be slaughtered; men soon followed. There were no pleads, no demands, no civil veil of talk.

Legolas was reluctant to involve his company as both sides were doing the other equal harm. A notable number of the village's men were missing and conspicuous smoke rose from Sun Valley. Women and children cried out in the confusion; Legolas and his companions tried to lead them away from their burning homes, but few trusted their lives to these beautiful, but all the more strange, outsiders. Verhute was not even able to attempt to reason with them, obviously frustrated and saddened by this. Ardel began to bodily remove a woman from one of the first homes to burn as the hay thatched roof began to moan and splinter. She screamed and kicked furiously but as soon as he placed her on her feet, she stilled, eyes intent on flame.

Children ran aimlessly once finding their homes alit and mothers hysterical. Some found small, hidden places where not even the Elves could follow them. Men clashed against each the other heavily with twisted faces and intent. Fallen bodies stayed on the ground in pain and harm.

Legolas watched as a young man fell to the ground without injury and feigned stillness. His attacker seemed convinced or too filled with the confusion of the fight to realize his opponent lay unharmed and moved on. The young man's gray eyes met Legolas' own over the distance; fire and fear reflected there. The boy of a man stayed down and Legolas could find little blame there; dishonor, yes, but fear of death at such an age shadowed fear of shame. As the man's eyes fell to the dirt with his shame, Legolas realized that at that man's years, he'd had not the barest concept of death, none the less its affect upon him. Legolas was unsure of how he would have responded, if at all, should he have as such a child to the world been called to risk it. He found himself an unworthy judge and averted his gaze quickly, allowing the man his fake death. 

                        *They want this fight,* Verhute said from his side, looking about them with a glance too aloof to be anything but pained. *I do not understand this.*

                        *Hate,* Legolas replied, *There is little more to understand.*

                        Verhute fell silent.

                        *Bring the horses, we have no place here,* Legolas ordered turning away in disgust from the flames and Men.

                        Sounds melted together too loud into a strange quiet with his purposeful ignorance. One shadow formed and fled another. The Men no longer had faces. At first, he had not noticed but with second thought he became aware; a woman was leading children into the forest. Soon, he heard the fall of hoof beats approaching near. With force, he turned himself from the deep shadow where he had stood in waiting to the approach of his fellows.

                        *Taszuluen is missing,* Ardel said without feeling, favoring his side. He was to over watch the horses at the periphery of the forest alongside Beredil and had only wandered from the task to pull the woman from her home. Legolas looked between the two. Both appeared righteously guilty.

            Legolas nodded and mounted his horse. Without further word or backward glance, the company followed Thranduil's son away; perhaps it would have been different if Legolas was not certain that Amoran rode ahead on her stolen horse. Or not so stolen, Legolas mused, as he thought back on Beredil's righteous guilt.

* * *

She sat mounted on a Taszuluen who seemed unaware that her rider was anything but permissioned. Amoran was stilled, chin held high, holding a swathed bundle to herself. She had been waiting for him where he had found her the night before, flame behind and flame ahead her on the path. 

"Hello, Legolas," Amoran said, a slight uncertainty in her voice hidden from her face.

"Amoran," he said in turn.

"Sun Valley and Green Hills are burning. I have no where to go," she spoke slowly, as if unsure of her words. "The road . . ." She stopped and considered, looking down to the bundle resting against her belly and bodice. "Take us with you. Please, do not make me beg for sanctuary." She paused. "But I shall, if I must."

"My dear woman," Legolas said and Amoran for the first time noticed his endearment, "you have never to beg from me. Yet, how do I know that returning to my father's hall is truly what you wish?"

Amoran thought for only a moment.

"I adore you, Legolas. I do, though I have an odd manner of proving it. I do not wish to travel the road unknown. I can't, you see, for I have taken back what is mine."

"You're daughter," he said, glancing once again to the bundle.

"Yes."

"You took her from Ciarra."

"Wouldn't you?" she asked, clutching the child tighter. "She is mine. She is the only thing good from me and do I not deserve her?"

"Amoran, I shall not tell you your actions were wise."

"I am not asking you to," she said back. "I am asking you to take Jasphine and me back to the halls of your father." A sudden sharpness overcame her voice and her thoughts, brought on by desperation. "You owe me, Legolas. Your people use me, mark me, throw me away. I do not resent you for I adore you. But is there not a debt to be paid?"

The whole of Legolas' company was utterly quiet.

"There is," he finally answered. "And I can trust you to collect a debt."

Amoran nodded, with a look almost pleading. "Forgive me for collecting it."

Legolas sighed and dismounted from his horse. "Let us prepare Taszuluen to carry you for the long ride," he said as he approached her. He offered her his hand and she looked to it momentarily, before turning towards him, holding Jasphine to her breast tightly, and letting Legolas take hold of her waist and pull her gently from horseback. 

"I am truly sorry," she said as he still held her close, assuring her footing.

"For what?" he asked, choosing not yet to let go.

"For using you."

"Amoran, as you said, I used you first."

"Yes . . .but I liked it."

* * *

See Character List (next chapter) for message to readers.


	31. Chapter 31 Part One

Chapter Thirty-One

part 1 of 2

Many things contributed to the long wait for this chapter. I will spare you all from listing them. Let's just say that can be very frustrating and life can be very complicated. You will notice that I no longer have a listing of characters, their meanings, their pronunciation, and replies to the readers. This is because got a hold of me and suspended me for using the extra chapter illegally, by their reckoning and they are the law round here. In any matter, I'm going to play by their rules since they are the only ones with my story saved. If they pull it, I've lost over three hundred pages. I won't be replying to readers from the last time I updated because it's been so long that the context is gone and I don't have anything worthwhile to say other than that you all have my thanks for letting me know what you think and as always I appreciate you all and the time you take to share your thoughts with me. I will reply to readers in the next update, if I have any readers left. I'm working on Part Two of this chapter and am abstaining from writing in my novel for a week to see if I can finish this story. Let's see if I can remember how the ending was supposed to go. Since has changed their rules in uploading, I had to change what counted as indicating Sindarin. For now on out, ' the sign in between indicates Sindarin.

………

Amoran became quiet upon the road, tending Jasphine when the child awoke. As a mother, she was anxious and her actions were unpracticed. Luckily, Jasphine appeared to be a rather timid child and rarely cried. They now accounted a babe amongst their company yet it was decided safest to travel with little stop. Mirkwood's depths were a dangerous place to linger.

"We must stop, Legolas!" Amoran pleaded as they drew near to forest patrolled aggressively by Thranduil's Elves. "My body cannot take it."

Deciding that so close to the patrols, a short delay and rest were reasonable, Legolas gave the slightest of nods. Amoran sighed with great relief, shifting Jasphine's small body against her. The child's eyes were wide in the near darkness, light reflected there from the lanterns Beredil and Belethil held. The lanterns were alit with little more than flickers of flame. Whatever light these lanterns gave served to define shadow and reveal darkened faces and forms.

Beredil and Belethil dismounted their horses, one taking guard at the front and other to the rear. Verhute spoke shortly to Legolas before disappearing into the shadows alone. Ardel offered to take Jasphine from Amoran and she gratefully handed the child over before Legolas helped her from her horse. Amoran found herself unable to stand and grabbed onto Legolas the tighter as her numb knees buckled beneath her sudden weight.

"No, no," Amoran muttered as Legolas held her waiting for her to find her feet. "To the ground. I cannot stand."

"You should have said aught earlier," Legolas chided, lowering her to the ground, careful to not tread on the edge of her rumpled skirt.

"I am as keen as you to finish this road," Amoran said, wincing as she rubbed life back into her calves.

Ardel sat down beside her with Jasphine in her arms. The child looked back at the Elf curiously, cautiously. She had been quiet for some time, growing quieter as time passed.

"How young is the babe?" Legolas asked, removing Amoran's waterskin from where it had hung at Taszuluen's saddle.

Amoran seemed to think on this as Ardel began murmuring to the child, allowing Jasphine to rest against his chest. At the strange words, the child relaxed and began playing with errant strands of Ardel's black hair.

"More than a year. Less than two," she answered before adding in a near whisper, "Ciara would know."

Legolas handed her the waterskin but chose not to sit. Instead, he seemed to have found forest calling of interest.

"Just a squirrel," Ardel said, the sudden switch to Common jarred Jasphine and she momentarily stiffened.

Legolas said nothing and Amoran realized they both must have heard something in the branches. They heard and knew much that she did not; there was something discomforting about this while still remaining reassuring. She was safe, Amoran knew. It was the mere thought of inequality that disturbed her so.

"Are you angry with me, Legolas?" Amoran asked as Ardel rose from the ground, having handed back her child, and joined Beredil in quiet conversation. Legolas sat beside but unlike what was habit for the other Elves, did not offer to hold Jasphine. Amoran did not sense an aversion to the child from Legolas; merely a distancing.

"Yes," he answered unlike she expected him. Some part of her knew him angered and felt remorse and guilt for that but she had not believed he would speak of that.

"I see," she said in a manner to gather her thoughts. "I never mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt anyone. I think it's not so much my actions as my sense of time. I have none."

"Then we are equal," Legolas murmured, idly running sparse grasses through his fingers.

"Legolas," she called to him gently, placing a free hand upon his cheek and turning his gaze to her. Amoran had to swallow at having such an intense gaze focused upon her. "We are never equal. We only strive to be."

"Tell me, Amoran, why do we do this? For I do not see," he asked, nearly pleading though his voice never quivered.

Amoran forced a smile and was surprised to feel herself cry.

"Because in another time, another place, this could've been happiness."

"Is that your excuse for life?" he asked, knowing the words unkind but choosing to speak them though his heart ached to hurt another.

Amoran laughed, wiping a tear from her face as quickly and discreetly as possible. "Strange, I thought it was life's excuse."

"There are moments and choices in time that cannot be chosen in all but one way and cannot be undone. Yet, those are few in short years. Choices come again. Life is filled with choices. It was what you made of it." Legolas placed a hand upon her thigh, seemingly unaware that he had done so. Amoran noticed the gesture. In her consideration, he noticed his own unconscious move but did not withdraw it and Amoran did not ask it of him. They both sat in silence as they were, Jasphine quiet and almost forgotten in Amoran's arms, until several Elves stepped from out of shadow.

"Amoran," a familiar voice breathed her name in obvious surprise.

She looked up to see who had spoken her name so.

"Hello, Nichae," she greeted without a smile. She saw Nichae glance to Legolas and then his flicker his vision to Legolas' hand upon Amoran's thigh. "How fare's Lireal?" she asked as more of a matter of distraction than otherwise.

"My wife is well," Nichae answered.

"What a fine match you two will continue to be," Amoran replied.

Nichae looked back to Verhute -who stepped out of the shadow to Amoran's right, Legolas stood from his feet and moved to greet his friend.

They spoke in a tongue to which Amoran was still foreign. Nichae's tone was stilted and low, as if afraid Amoran could understand. Legolas listened calmly, patiently, his eyes wavering to Amoran before returning to Nichae.

"Yes, perhaps that'd be wise," he answered in Common, perhaps to subtly hint for Nichae to do the same. Instead, Nichae nodded and turned back to his hunting party.

"Nichae," Legolas called out to the hunter. Nichae looked back at the sound of Legolas' voice. "Stay. Send another ahead to my father. Perhaps Celerin."

Nichae looked upward for a moment. Strangely enough, Amoran thought that he may be exchanging silent words with some unforeseen being, pleading for patience.

"Yes, I see you Belethil," Legolas said with a small smile. "I am sure you would not mind accompanying your friend."

Belethil had been standing behind Nichae, holding the lantern. At the mention of Celerin's name he had begun pacing, searching the boughs, the light and shadow chasing his heels.

"Celerin and Belethil will go on ahead to warn my father," Legolas dictated, overruling Nichae's command of his hunting party without thought. It was his right. At such moments, Amoran was made aware of her beautiful Elf being the son of a king, not only some extraordinary man and lover.

"Celerin," Nichae called to the trees.

Amoran jumped where she sat, holding Jasphine to her at seeing a shadowy figure fall from the forest ceiling a short distance to her right, between herself and Verhute. It took a moment for Amoran to realize that the tall, lithe figure was not that of an Orc but an Elf. He smiled down at her startle with warm brown eyes before bowing to Legolas.

As Nichae spoke to the Elf shortly in their tongue, Amoran searched the boughs overhead. She wondered how many of Nichae's party looked down from above. Somehow, it seemed more likely for her to spot a dark squirrel than an Elf who was not trying to be seen.

Belethil and the Elf exchanged an enthusiastic greeting, embracing as brothers before Belethil began to walk off into the shadows with Celerin moving to follow. Amoran glanced back to were Beredil stood with a lantern at his feet, crossing his arms and looking particularly disinterested in the fact that his brother was no longer with him. The brothers were so close that Amoran thought that he may have actually been bothered by being left alone but would never say anything to Legolas. Well, she thought it did them good to be separated for a short time after so long a trip.

"Belethil, I think we shall need that lamp far more than the two of you," Ardel called out from where he had been exchanging quiet and few words with Verhute.

Belethil looked back; momentarily confused before realizing that he was in fact walking off with the light.

"My apologies, Amoran," he said to her while handing the lamp to Celerin, who in turn handed it to Nichae. The light was mainly for her benefit as the Elves were accustomed to the heavy shadow and dense growth of the forest. The little light shed made the trip all the better for her and, by association, Jasphine. It was a comfort Legolas afforded them when he was able.

Amoran felt small hands wrap around her neckline, cold fingers like ice against her skin. She looked down at Jasphine quickly, having forgotten that the young child was held tightly against her bosom. Jasphine looked up at her with wide, dark eyes. They were the child's father's eyes. Some part of her couldn't stand looking into them, seeing a bit of a bad man there.

"Amoran?" Nichae's voice startled her and Jasphine closed her eyes against Amoran's small jump.

Nichae and Legolas, side by side, looked down on her with differing intensities of concern. Legolas kneeled beside her, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Can you stand now or do you need for further rest?" he asked, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly.

"I think," she licked her dry lips, raising one hand to cover his hand where he touched her, "I think I need for rest the remaining of my days. A good rest away." Amoran leaned her cheek against the joined hands, eyes straying to where Verhute still stood. She wondered what he had to say if he could speak to her and if he cared enough to wonder what she said in turn. Verhute met her eyes for a moment with sadness. His gaze shifted to Legolas before he turned away to pass by Ardel and join Ithillian beside the horses. She decided to take such sadness for care. Or was it understanding? It was easier not to think of such things.

"Hold Jasphine for me, Legolas. Then maybe I can stand," Amoran said with full intention of seeing Jasphine in Legolas' arms.

Legolas seemed hesitant but held out his hands. Amoran placed Jasphine on her feet in an effort to make the child walk to Legolas. Jasphine refused to walk and sat on Amoran's legs instead. This worried her; Jasphine had not walked in days. She could not remember seeing Jasphine taking one step outside of the tavern. And she had not said a word. Surely, the child was beginning to speak.

Without thinking the child's lacking odd, Legolas grasped her from underneath the arms and stood, pulling Jasphine up with him. Momentarily, he seemed unsure of how to hold the child. But he finally decided to rest her, face outwards, on a slender hip, reaching his spare hand down to Amoran.

She grasped his hand and let Legolas pull her to still unsteady feet. Nichae reached out to steady her as her knees still threatened to buckle.

"I did not think we rode so hard," Legolas said, hampered from helping steady her further by Jasphine's weight on his hip.

"I admit, I don't feel as well as I should." Amoran wearily grasped onto Nichae's shoulder, trying wanly to smile. "Mayhap I am falling ill."

This caused Legolas' eyes to fairly widen, his lips set into a pale thin line. Nichae meanwhile had silently slipped an arm around her waist.

"Don't worry so, Legolas," she said in a light tone, almost as a laugh. "I've been ill before but have yet to meet my deathbed. Remember, I have a long life line."

"Forgive me if that does not serve to reassure," Legolas remarked quite seriously.

"Life line?" Nichae asked and Amoran smiled that she shared something so personal as that moment.

"Take Jasphine, Nichae," Legolas ordered.

"Amoran," Nichae began to object.

"I believe it best for her to ride before me," Legolas interceded.

"Your father shall be thrilled," Nichae muttered while awkwardly taking the child and holding Amoran until Legolas was able to securely hold her against him.

"I greatly look forward to the sight of his face," Legolas said, wrapping his arm much more intimately around her waist than Nichae had dared.

"I take it you have missed him this short while," Ardel added, leading Legolas' mount over to them instead of forcing the two to amble across the short expanse.

"That, too."

Many of the Elves softly chuckled at this.

"Damn, more riding," Amoran muttered under her breath. Legolas smiled gently as he lifted her onto the horse's back. "Great!" Amoran continued her whispery monologue, running her hands over the horse's bare back. "No saddle."

"It's only a short ride, Amoran. I would never let you fall," Legolas soothed, suddenly mounted behind her and shifting her weight so that she leaned back against his chest.

"I'm not scared of falling," she said, closing her eyes as she wearily let her head roll back against his shoulder. "It's the ride."

"Nichae, ride beside me so that Amoran can see her daughter." She felt his voice in his chest and against her back as he spoke, and listened to hoof beats as they drew beside and around them.

She opened her eyes to see those of Nichae's hunting party that had their feet on the ground taking positions to the party's sides, nearest to where the dark trees imposed on the widening road.

"How many are in the trees?" Amoran asked, unable to quell her curiosity. She glanced to the side to see Nichae cradling Jasphine to his chest with both hands, placing such faith in Taszuluen to not throw both him and her daughter to the hard earth. He seemed uncomfortable atop the saddle, but said nothing of it. He held Jasphine, tightly and considerately, studying her face and smiling to her. He held her as one who longed for a babe of his own; nothing like how Legolas had held her.

"Enough to keep you safe," he answered in her ear. She felt him hesitate; it was a tightening, a tensing in his chest, before he pressed his lips against her temple in a kiss.

"And Jasphine," she added breathlessly.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments before pressing his lips against her temple again, shortly distracting her from the fact that he had silently commanded the party forward. "And Jasphine," he agreed, whispering into her hair.

She glanced over to Nichae, to see his head bowed. He no longer smiled, but seemed to be contemplating the fall of the horse's mane, jaw tight. Amoran knew Legolas was becoming more attentive, more affectionate, perhaps because of his nervousness. He feared his father's words, especially the silent ones that would stay hidden behind the king's eyes for love of his son. Amoran let Legolas hold her as he wished and while she tried not to think of how much it was like how Nichae held her daughter; the consideration, the care.

They were led into a hall of stone pillars, cut directly from the caves. Torches and candles set fiery light on floor and faces, looming shadow clinging to where pillars met vaulted ceilings. The hall was overly large for the few Elves that stood in small groups, some only numbering two or three strong, resting beside the pillars or doors leading away. Most of those present stood near a thrown, crafted of twisted wood. There, Thranduil sat, hair golden in firelight and face fair and troubled. His eyes were steered away, their brightness heavy on emptiness.

Legolas felt guilt tear at him as he and Ardel walked side by side. Amoran followed behind, led by Nichae, who still had Jasphine in his arms, as much for his want as Amoran's need. Legolas was relieved to see her able to walk again. Mayhap it truly was the prolonged ride. Verhute walked behind Amoran at Legolas' order, in case Amoran's feet failed her again. Legolas dearly hoped that such a need would not come about; he had no wish to explain to his father with his mortal lover unable to even stand. It was an uncomfortable thought, none the less reality.

Thankfully, they made the walk to the throne without complication or stumble.

Bowing before his lord, king, and father, Legolas tried not to think of how alone Thranduil looked without his mother standing behind the king's right shoulder. Any anger he held at his father for allowing his mother to leave fled him at the appearance of the lone king surrounded by flickering shadow. How could Legolas hold anger to one he so loved, who obviously was in great pain?

'Legolas,' Thranduil greeted in Sindarin, eyes noting the group finally. He stood from his thrown with practiced ease and crossed the short distance between them. His father gathered Legolas into his strong embrace.

'Father.' Legolas hugged Thranduil back as strongly as possible, nearly to the point of discomfort. If his father wished some momentary reassurance of his physical presence beside him, Legolas was willing to give it and receive whatever comfort there was for himself, in turn.

Shortly, Thranduil pulled back. Whatever words they would've exchanged for a shared pain remained silent. They had no need for speaking them.

'And nephew,' Thranduil laughed and welcomed Ardel with a grin, holding his arms open. 'Finally a visit!'

'Uncle,' Ardel graciously embraced Thranduil, though not with the intensity father and son had just shared. 'I thought it the perfect opportunity to visit family.'

'And the summer solstice played no part,' Thranduil teased, patting Ardel on the shoulder before moving back to sit on his thrown.

'Only a little one,' Ardel teased back, gesturing how small with a hand. 'But your feasts cannot be bested.'

'You are more than welcome, nephew. Brilthor sent a messenger before you to tell me of your coming. A room has already been prepared for you in the family wing.'

Ardel nodded and Thranduil returned his gaze to Legolas.

"Brilthor's letter was rather lengthy," Thranduil spoke now in Common and Legolas knew that the discussion of Amoran was at hand.

"Then he had much to say," Legolas said, in turn, knowing Thranduil would not continue until he had spoken. Yet, his stubborn spirit, inherited from father to son, refused to give away anything until specifically asked.

"Yes," Thranduil continued, sitting straight and stern, his forest green robes falling about his wrists and feet in regal folds. He tilted his head to the side to look around Legolas to Amoran. "Amoran, I hope I find you well."

"Never better, your highness," Amoran lied, still clinging to Nichae's arm. Thranduil raised his brow at her response. His words had been more of a guise of politeness than a true question. If she was to answer, Amoran should've answered truthfully; Thranduil knew a lie, even well hidden.

"And what of this child?" Thranduil asked, his eyes on Amoran but question posed to Legolas.

"She is Amoran's daughter," Legolas explained, stepping back to stand beside Amoran.

"I take it that you have offered mother and daughter something of a sanctuary after hearing of the plague," he questioned, turning his gaze to Legolas at his silence.

Legolas felt a cold lurch within his chest at his father's words. He looked back to Amoran but she seemed just as taken aback as he.

"I take that as a 'no,'" his father continued. "We received word of a sickness spreading amongst the small villages at the fringes of my realm. They believe it has been spread by horses traveling with their riders from one village to the next. It first ailed the swine, it is believed. The Men of these villages have taken to slaughtering their livestock. This has done little to stave the spread. Both the young and the old are falling ill quite suddenly, along with the strong. There is little way to tell the ill from the uninfected. No length of time is known before one shows sign of illness. If this is not why Amoran and her daughter have traveled to my halls, then I ask why, Legolas?"

Legolas opened his mouth to answer, unsure of what he was to say before Thranduil interrupted anything to be said.

"Choose your words carefully, my son."

"Do you wish the truth or a more pleasant answer, my father? I can give either with enough of both," Legolas replied.

"Nichae, hand me the child if Amoran is too unwell to hold her," Thranduil said and Nichae glanced momentarily to Amoran before handing Jasphine to his king. "Good," he murmured, letting the child sit comfortably on his lap before addressing the rest of the hall. His voice carried down the expanse to sensitive ears that were fixed upon the meeting. 'Leave us. I must talk to my son.' Then he added in undertone, "Amoran, Ardel, stay." 'Verhute, stay as well. I believe I shall have need of your council.'

Verhute nodded and waited for the Elves in the hall to swiftly find somewhere else to be. Soon, the hall was very empty save the few standing before a king and child on a thrown.

"I prefer the truth, Legolas," Thranduil said, playing with one of Jasphine's small hands between his long fingers, or perhaps, Jasphine was playing with his fingers.

"I find that I cannot say, 'no' where Amoran is concerned. She had become a friend and lover," Legolas explained, avoiding looking to any but Thranduil.

"A mortal lover," Thranduil murmured to himself. "This is why you have brought her here, to keep your mistress to your side. To what end, Legolas?"

"I'm not expecting marriage, my lord," Amoran said out of turn. She looked to Legolas before turning back to his father. "I care for him too greatly to bind him to me."

"Do you love my son?"

Amoran paused and Legolas watched as she worried her lips and considered an answer. Many, long moments passed.

"I ask again, Amoran: Do you love my son?"

"I can only say that I love Legolas as greatly as I love anything."

Legolas tried to stifle a pain that grew within him at her words. They were not unexpected and he had not greater ones to offer her in turn.

"Do you love him as greatly as you love yourself?" Thranduil continued to ask though Legolas wished the questions would turn back to him and things could then be controlled again.

"Greater, your highness. You see, I have no love for myself."

"Then that is no great admission," his father finished, looking more saddened by the situation than angered. "And my son obviously holds some love for you that you do not hold for yourself."

This quieted Amoran and she raised a shaky hand to her forehead, as if his words only served to pain her. She seemed more tired than ill.

"I have nothing to say to this, my lord," Amoran said after a moment of silence. "I am very confused."

"And your confusion has brought you to our halls. I would have rather you come in conviction or need, not confusion. If you do not know what you wish, child, how are you to find your way?" Thranduil asked, not expecting an answer, pulling Jasphine further up into his lap as she had been sliding uncomfortably floor-wards. He pressed the child's head back to rest against his chest as she'd began to sway, as if to fall asleep where she sat. Jasphine closed her eyes and did not open them. It was strange for Legolas to see his father with a child. He could not remember the last time he had seen Thranduil hold one so young.

"It was not until recently that I was aware that I was looking for my way, your highness. If I may speak plainly, I am unsure at times whether I should praise fate for merging our paths or rue it. Legolas has only done well by me. He embraced me when I was untouchable. For that, I thank him," Amoran said, glancing sidelong to Legolas. He met her eyes for a moment and the glance was made heavy with moments left largely unsaid. "It's only for him that I was able to take back my child. I love Jasphine as all women must love their babes. Yet, Legolas made a respectable woman of me. Now, knowing of this plague you spoke of, Legolas has saved her life."

"I know very well of my son's virtues," Thranduil added, looking down momentarily on the child in his lap. His face seemed to soften, as if in remembrance, and Legolas knew that Amoran had been spared by circumstance once again. "Nor do I need reminder of a mother's love."

"In the name of both, I hoped she could again find shelter in our halls," Legolas added between them."

"Then, for both," Thranduil replied, pulling the sleeping child more securely to his self, "She may remain. But only for a mother's love and your virtues, Legolas."

He responded to this as if the very blood in his chest had turned to the hardest of stones, pulling him down and tearing all apart.

"I assume you know my meaning," his father stated.

"You wish us married, a proper ceremony?" Legolas replied just about the same moment Amoran responded, herself. "What? Wedding? No. No, no, no. He is the prince, I am the nothing. It was by his virtue to handle any scoundrel as he wished."

"That may be so. I certainly wouldn't dispute that in many circumstances. But I hold Legolas to a higher standard. But isn't this all you have been striving for, _Lady_ Amoran?"

"No."

"How may I hold you to that, Amoran?"

"I shall promise so on my most precious possession." This seemed to pique the interest of this Elven King. The room stayed immersed in silence until she answered. "Jasphine."

"Fair it seems," Thranduil answered in a slow, considerate tone. "You may keep Jasphine as long as you remain no more than a platonic companion to my son. In turn, if you cannot be parted from Legolas or Legolas from you, Jasphine will bee raised amongst the Mirkwood Elves until she is a woman. To dare lie on the head of one's own child presents a series of rashness and irresponsibility your daughter would do better not be about. Are we agreed?"

………

Ardel soon became Jasphine's favorite or, mayhap, the other way around. It took a matter of passing days before the babe chose the Elven lord over even her own mother. Many a woman would take such an event as something highly worthy of jealousy. But, in her own way, this caused Amoran to withdraw into herself as if untouched. Still, Legolas saw what was hinted to in private moments. The child was a matter both Legolas and Amoran were afraid to touch. The pain Amoran stored away of how Ardel stole the attention of Jasphine equally hurt Legolas as it stole away the attention of Amoran. He thought himself weak for it but the feeling would not away.

Such hid in the silence they trod upon on an empty walk under stone walls and flickering candelabra. Some way back, Ardel had departed from them, taking Jasphine with him with words that promised she would be safe, with himself and Archae. Amoran half-listened as he walked away. That would be why Legolas spoke to her from the open doorway

"He thinks that I am unable to raise my own child," Amoran said, sitting heavily on her bed in a new room set aside for her. It was terribly close to the family's rooms and Amoran was sure that Thranduil was out to tempt her into a wrong. And it was at times a strong temptation, especially when Legolas swore his father would never steal a child from its mother. On many an occasion, he would playfully open and close the door with them both left alone on the other side. Amoran couldn't help but laugh at him girlishly as he played with her as if there was no one else he would rather be with. Sometimes there were long moments where she could believe him.

"Yes but as did you, Amoran, when she was first born," Legolas replied

"Since then, I helped teach her how to talk, how to walk. I am trying to be a good mother. It just doesn't come easily to us all, you see?"

"I would not know. I am not a father, none the less a mother." Legolas pointed out and almost sat down on the bed amongst the dresses and riding boots and robe that surrounded Amoran. She meant to finally put them all away but found herself angered by them than otherwise. They represented all the frustration she bore within her for all the dances, all the pretty faces, all the pretty words made unpretty through circumstance. Just before Legolas was about to sit, Amoran whacked him on the butt twice, catching him suddenly off-guard and to suddenly stand up and take a step away. He looked to her accusingly.

"That did not hurt. 'Tis just . . . we have to avoid each other's beds. Even when done innocently by mistake. You wouldn't want me to lose Jasphine to the Elves, would –." Then Amoran stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she had just said and to whom. "Not to say I don't appreciate some very nice qualities I learned of through my former more than platonic companion."

"What a telling compliment," Legolas replied.

"I know."

While the two forgot momentarily the circumstances looming over them, there was a knock at the door.

"Damn! I forgot the door! Closed the damn door!" Amoran hissed to herself, jumping off the bed as if someone had whacked her bottom. She calmed herself for just enough of a moment to look on the Elf. "Legolas?"

"Yes?" He looked equally upset, kicking some of the garments that were left on the bed onto the floor and was then avidly trying to get them unattached from his boots.

"Get under the bed."

Legolas stopped his efforts immediately and looked at her as if in shock.

"Get under the bed, Legolas," she hissed again before adding, "Shall be just a moment," to whoever was on the other side of the door. Then Amoran returned to Legolas and found him on the ground, quickly sliding under the wooden frame and the drapery of dresses and an unmade bed all helped to cover him just as another knock came from the door.

"A moment," she called back before calming herself. Inside she cried that it not be someone searching for Legolas. "Come in." Amoran was finally able to breathe at the sight of Lireal.

"Lireal!" she sighed as her whole body relaxed and Amoran looked Lireal in entirety. As always she was beautiful. But now, there was trouble in her eyes. "May I enter?"

"Of course. I could move all my garments aside if you wanted to rest. I merely cannot find the time to set one thing in order before another comes along. Jasphine can make a mess where she sits, crawls, or walks to." Amoran started sorting her dresses. She had rarely had anything of such fine quality thus was left unsure of how to mend them when torn.

"No, you need not. I hear Legolas breathing. I can keep my tongue for this circumstance. I think King Thranduil would be your keeper now. He's there right now." Lireal's voice was so held back, too calm, that Amoran knew something was wrong. She heard the bed clothes rustle as Legolas moved out from below the bed once again.

"What's wrong, Lireal?" she asked. "It surely can't be that bad. Unless I did it." Amoran tried to laugh but it was a solitary one.

"He's so sorry, Amoran. So sorry. Please understand that when you see," Lireal said clasping her hands tightly above her belly.

"Who?" Legolas asked while coming to Amoran's side.

"Ardel."


	32. Chapter 31 Part Two

Chapter Thirty-One Part Two

………

This is part two of chapter thirty-one. I believe there will be three parts to this chapter and then an epilogue. Yes, we are getting very close indeed to the end of the story. This seems strange to me since there is a part of me that feels that this was the story that would not end, even though the end has been in my head since I've begun this little tale. Sorry that it took so long to update this part of the chapter. I hope that the next one will come sooner but I know better than to make promises. I will promise, however, that I will be working on it and making it the best ending I can as soon as I post this chapter. Thank you to all who left reviews. Replies to my reviewers are at the end of the post. I recommend reading yours after reading the actual post since my reply may contain spoilers for the chapter you're about to read.

………..

She first saw the cluster of Elves as they rose above a slight hill in the path, dark trees surrounding them as they gathered around each other. They were moving towards her swiftly and at the sound of anxious voices, Amoran began to run towards the outcropping of rock and twisting of a small riverbank nigh. Legolas ran ahead of her, quickly gaining on the grouping of Elves moving towards them. She could see King Thranduil amongst them, a tall, golden figure amongst those with darker features. The trees were silent and the moon was already showing its pale face while the sun fell to the west in a cast of fire amongst a sea of blue. Stars were beginning to settle in the sky, so light amongst the dusk as to almost be faded.She could hear such horrible screams, gasping at breath before screaming again, crying into the falling night. But they were quickly dying away and the sound of soft singing was taking its place, gentle and lulling, causing Amoran's pounding heart to slow and her anxiety to fade away along with the wails.

"What's happened?" Amoran asked as she caught her breath and stopped a short distance from them. Several of the Elves looked worriedly about them before parting to show Ardel and Thranduil. The king seemed concerned but not as greatly as the others while Ardel appeared outright hysterical. Several around them were singing gently, reaching over to caress the child.

"My greatest apologies, Amoran! I looked away for only a moment," Ardel began before she walked forward and grabbed at the child whimpering in his arms. Blood was running down Jasphine's small brow to collect at her small pink lips. She was also soaking wet, cold as the river flowing not far away.

"You can never look away," she said, wiping at the blood to see where it came from. "Not even for a moment."

"Forgive me, Amoran. She fell in the river. I didn't think she would go so close to the edge of the boulder and risk the fall. I was foolish and wanting. I went after her quickly," it was with that that Amoran looked up and saw that Ardel was fairly soaked as well, with blood on his neck from where he held the child close and on his hands. "But not before she hit her head."

"I doubt it's the first time she's fallen," Amoran said, feeling the need to offer some comfort to Ardel as he seemed on the edge of throwing himself off some boulder in a fit of guilt. He really had become quite taken with Jasphine. They were all lucky that she had merely bumped her head and took a little dip. The cut on her brow was small and already had clotted. All she needed was some cleaning and warm clothes. "And I know for a fact it wouldn't have been the first time I looked away. Take peace, Ardel. You're forgiven."

"See, nephew? Is it not as I said?" Thranduil asked, collecting a cloak from another elf and handing it to Amoran. She took it thankfully and wrapped it around Jasphine though the child pushed at her hands and the warm cloth with a whimper and pout. "All children take their tumbles. It may cause us great distress but it happens all the same. You do not remember but Legolas spent several years of his youth with a ghastly scar on his elbow that his mother will never forgive me for. I am fortunate it faded away from sight."

"Yes, there will be a scar," Amoran murmured as she pushed Jasphine's dark, matted hair out of her eyes. At seeing Ardel's eyes widen and several of the Elves mouths frown, she added, "but only a small one. I'm sure it shall add character."

Legolas stepped forward and looked at the scrap on Jasphine's forehead, petting her hair back almost lovingly. It was the most affectionate gesture she'd seen him express for Jasphine for some time. Still there were times that he would laugh at her giggles or rustle her hair tenderly and Amoran had the feeling that he was fighting against a fondness for the child, as if he did not wish to become close to her. Amoran could understand this; she had done the same when she had just given birth and knew she'd regret any tie to the little one that looked so much like the father. It was easier that way; to not bog one down in emotions that would later serve to only cause harm. Of course, mayhap, she should have listened to her past wisdom when she began her relationship with Legolas. However, Amoran could not help her moments of weakness. This beautiful Elf was her weakness and she wondered where it would leave her wounded and wanting in the end.

Bringing her mind back to the present, she cuddled Jasphine closer to her neck and saw that Thranduil had spoken to her, but somehow she couldn't remember what he had said, focused as she was on Legolas' hand on the small of her back. She didn't want to bring more attention to it but was unsure of the wisdom of its placement. Amoran just nodded and hoped that it was appropriate. Thranduil smiled and she saw the smile waver as he followed Legolas' arm behind her back and quickly the prince dropped his hand to his own side.

"The child should be beside a fire, in warm clothes and her mother's arms," Thranduil said, turning from the group and walking ahead of them. "She shall catch chill in this breeze."

Amoran nodded again, speaking her accord and following the king back into the shadows of the palace. Legolas walked to her side, his hand placed beneath her elbow genteelly, with Ardel following shortly behind. The chill of the breeze was cut away by rock as the white fires of Mirkwood took the place of the dying sun. Quickly, she was led to her room and there, she asked to be left alone with the fussing child. Legolas paused a moment in answer but nodded his agreement and bid her fair night.

………

She remembered this small garden amidst the stone. It seemed an age ago that she and Legolas had shared words here, just off in one of several arched verandas. Jasphine was asleep amongst the cool grass, her little fingers tightly fisted next to either side of her face. There was a small bruise and cut where she had bled so profusely over two weeks before but it was quickly fading and Amoran knew it would soon only be little more than a dim reminder of the frenzy of the moment. If she was quiet, she could hear the child's soft breath. In and out, she breathed cleanly, not labored by nightmares or illness. Amoran wondered if she once caused her own mother's heart to ache quite like how her own now did at the sight of her daughter. She was undeserving, this she knew. She was undeserving of many things, of many people.

Still that was not the thought that prevailed her that moment. It was only a fleeting shadow in the face of what was truly heavy in her mind. The thought weighing her mind down in the consideration was what she was going to make of herself. Swiftly, Amoran was becoming too old to travel the roads without companion or care. She was too tainted to settle as a man's wife. Amoran wasn't sure who the taint would turn, whether it'd be her unease in one place or a man's knowing that he had not been her only one. Now, she had Jasphine to consider, as well. It had been a rash decision to take her from her rightful home. Some part of her was unsure of why she had.

She wasn't her mother, Amoran decided, watching as the babe opened her rosebud mouth in a tiny yawn. Not her true mother, at the least. She was undeserving of that title, as well. What had she done to ever deserve it? But what could she have done different? Men with intent and weapons around them, the screaming, the burning, Amoran thought at that moment that it was the right choice. She wouldn't leave her babe alone with her family in the burning village. Wasn't that the right choice? Jasphine was safer now that she and her mother were amongst the Mirkwood Elves. Yes, it'd been the right choice.

Then why did she feel the scoundrel stealing the babe in the night?

Perhaps because of how easily she had promised her child away to the Elven king. However, Jasphine was still her own as long as she distanced herself from what she cherished just as dearly.

Legolas.

"What weighs your thoughts so heavily this morn, Amoran?"

Oh, how it tore at her heart to know that she had to turn a cold shoulder where he was only pleasant, beautiful, and charming.

"I did not hear you approach," she replied, watching Jasphine's chest slowly rise and fall with every taking and giving of breath. "I never do."

"It does not mean that I'm not here."

"So I've come to realize." Amoran glanced up to where his voice emanated from and saw that Legolas sat up on a low bough of one of the robust trees that were able to grow this close to the cave's opening. "Why are you here, Legolas?"

"'Tis my home," he said simply, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, a hand resting on an upraised knee.

"You know what I mean," she said, hushing Jasphine as she started to whimper at the sound of her voice. "We shouldn't be seen together alone."

"My father trusts in my word. If I say we are only friends, we are only friends," he replied, tilting his head to the side almost curiously. "Do you no longer wish to be my friend, Amoran?"

"It is difficult to be an Elf's friend," she said broadly, reaching over and pulling Jasphine's new booties higher up over her ankles. They were a gift from Lireal. Amoran had received many gifts from the Elves for her child over her stay. Swiftly, the child was acquiring a wardrobe worthy a young lady. "You can drown in delight or dim amongst the melancholy."

"Is that what you fear?" His tone was concerned but doubtful. Amoran shrugged. "You are unsure?"

"No," she answered truthfully.

"I do not understand. You befuddle me," Legolas said. She knew he looked to her heavily with a glance she both cherished and wished turned to someone else.

"What do we do to ourselves, Legolas, once those we choose to cherish we choose to cherish no longer?"

"Is that what you have done to me?"

She refused to meet his eyes. "You heard your father."

"Yes, I did. With quite some clarity," he replied. "I never heard him make any requirements of the heart."

"Oh, so now we're talking of the heart?" Amoran asked with a false humor. She glanced up to see that he smiled but there was little humor there, either. "Let's not."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to."

"But . . . why?"

"Legolas!" she cried and Jasphine's eyes snapped open with a whimper. "I just do not think it wise," Amoran continued in a near whisper, reaching out and rubbing her hand over Jasphine's belly in a comforting gesture.

"We have done many unwise things," he said, his eyes glancing to Jasphine with gentle consideration. "Many of them with each other."

"We make a wicked pair in such rights," she replied with a smile. "That so reminds me, what did you father think of the sword?"

"He was pleased to have it back in his care," Legolas said and she watched him gracefully fall from the low branch to land on steady feet. "Tell me, Amoran, do I reside in your heart?"

"What?"

"It was a simple question."

"An uninvited one."

"Then, do forgive me my curiosity. I merely wonder why you would not discuss your heart with me. You have already admitted some love for me," he stated, walking silently over the grass towards her. She felt an unease grow within her breast as he loomed over her. Truthfully, this conversation was one Amoran had wished to avoid.

"I will never say that I love you, Legolas," she said in as hurtful a tone as she could.

"I never thought that you would. I merely wondered why I had placed myself at risk for so much hurt," Legolas said, moving to her side and sitting himself on the grass so close that their shoulders touched. "Apparently for an allusion of caring."

"Oh, Legolas, please. Do not do this to yourself. You always blame yourself for every hurt placed upon you. But where I am concerned, I caused it all. I knew you were vulnerable and I took advantage. I knew you longed for someone and I made sure I was there. I knew I wanted to come back here and I knew that you could not tell me no. And once I was here and in your bed," she shrugged, "there was always the Privy Purse we talked of. I told you it was not beyond me. But now it is, because of your father. If anything you were a fool for trusting me but in the end, all the pain you find in your heart for me, I put there. I am a thief but I do more than steal men of their wealth. I rid them of their pride and surety. It is what I do," she said and waited for his harsh words to follow.

Instead, there was a shrill silence.

"You lie."

"Yes, I do that, as well. Quite often."

"No," he said, "you're lying now. You're lying to protect me."

"How can I protect you when I'm hurting you? You just don't want what I'm saying to be true. I'm still that thief that wandered into Mirkwood, Legolas. I'm still the woman who refused to tell you her name, just to spite you all. Just because I tricked you into bedding me changes nothing . . . Now, go away; our friendship is nothing but a lie."

Again, that silence . . . and then Elven laughter.

"You're laughing," she said accusingly, her eyes snapping up to meet his own, just beside her.

"Yes, I am. You think yourself so clever, Amoran, but your motives are quite clear."

"Are they? Please enlighten me."

"You are simply afraid," he said, leaning his shoulder against her own companionably. "You mustn't be afraid of me, Amoran."

"You are wrong," she replied, moving so that she was at an angle to him, glancing to him sidelong. "I'm not afraid of you. How can I be afraid of you when I -." She stopped herself, shutting her mouth with a snap. Amoran cleared her throat and focused on Jasphine. The child was awake, her little hands fisted around the blades of grass closest to her heart-shaped face, yanking on them curiously.

"Yes?" Legolas prompted, placing a gentle finger under her chin and raising her face to better see into her eyes. She looked to him for a long moment before refusing to meet his gaze, though not fighting against his lingering touch.

Finally she glanced up to him in the silence and saw a brightness there that felt so familiar and yet so foreign. "How can I be afraid of you when I want nothing more than to be with you?"

He smiled with a beauty that she felt pull at her heart and tear somewhere deep inside her. She could both hate and cherish him for that smile. It was sad and purely saccharine. "'Tis not something to smile over. You have woven some Elven magic. I am only mortal, how could I resist you?"

Legolas laughed gently, lifted a hand, and pushed errant strands of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her cheek before falling down her neck and pulling away. "I am no wizard."

"I care not _what_ you are. I care about what you have done to me," she replied before pressing her lips together miserably. "I was nothing before you," Amoran whispered. "And in nothing, I was made happy as I could be."

"What kind of existence is that?" he asked, reaching out for her again but she turned her head in the last moment, focusing on Jasphine as the child pulled several blades of grass from the dirt and tried to eat it. Gently, she pulled the grass from the little fists.

"No, Jasphine. Tastes bad," she corrected before answering him. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Legolas."

"Why not?"

"Because it's simple. It was a simple existence, but I understood it and even sometimes enjoyed it. I would have done well to keep to it," Amoran stated, tossing the grass aside and sighing as Jasphine pulled out more. It was a bad habit her mother shared but was determined to rid her daughter of. "I would have done well to listen to your wisdom, Legolas," she said, finally looking back to him. "And now we shall face the damning consequences. Is that not what you said?"

"Yes, I believe it is," he replied, "but perhaps I was overly dramatic."

"I think not. I think those consequences are upon us," she said, watching as Jasphine rolled onto her belly and rose to her knees. The child seemed done with the grass nearest her and was ready to explore somewhere else. Amoran kept an eye on her but otherwise let the child do as she willed.

"They were an eventuality," Legolas said, "The only unknown was how we would greet them."

"I do not greet them kindly," she stated. "I'm rarely confused in my wants, Legolas. I usually know what I feel. But here, I am left lost amongst the kindnesses of the Elven folk. You are right about one thing. I am afraid. However, not of you."

"What do you fear, Amoran?" he asked, tilting his head to the side curiously, eyes soft and wondering.

"What do you fear, Legolas?" she asked in turn, her eyes enraptured in the meeting of his own. "Tell me. Trust me. What wakes you in the night?"

"My fears?" Legolas murmured to himself, eyes straying skyward momentarily. "They do not wake me as I do not sleep as a mortal does. It merely plagues my thoughts."

"What does?"

"A growing darkness. A spreading shadow. The rising of its people. The fleeing of my own," he answered.

"As always, Legolas, your thoughts and fears are as noble as your birth. However, mine are as plain as my own origins," she said, catching his eyes and smiling sadly. "I fear that in the end all I did was for nothing. I fear that I am nothing. I fear that no one will remember me. I've done few noble things in my life, Legolas. I can count them on one hand. I fear that I found a way for me to be remembered mayhap in some gentle light but now I must leave him behind." She looked away from him and took an unsteady breath, watching as Jasphine walked unsteadily amongst the dainty flowers and churned soil. Again she felt the warmth of his hand on her cheek, pulling her gaze back to him greedily. Amoran did not resist but instead turned her head obligingly with weary eyes.

"You shall always be remembered in me," he murmured before leaning forward, his warmth enveloping her in his closeness. Her mouth parted slightly as his lips hovered over her own. "There. Fear no longer, dear woman," Legolas whispered before oh so gently pressing his lips against her own. The fleeting thought of resistance was a murmur in the back of her mind, quickly silenced by his affection.

All too soon he withdrew and she was left to breath in the cool air in the starless darkness. "And I am your tie to Middle-earth. Fear no longer, dear prince. As long as I live, it will not break. No matter what I say, or do, forgive me, for still I tie you."

"Is that a good bye, Amoran?" he asked with humor in his eyes. Amoran could not help but smile.

"No," she said, running her hand up over his ear and into his hair, pulling herself up to her knees and him towards her, "it's a release." With that, she kissed him with a pent fervor, uncaring of the consequences as there were none there to see. It was only a moment. And Legolas held her to him and kissed her in return, his hands clenched in the folds of her gown, grasping his moment with passion, knowing it would not last long. But both had understood that from the beginning of their tryst. Their embrace was fearless, perhaps foolishly so.

Neither saw Ardel and Ithillian in the shadowy corridors or the frown that graced a face, the other looking quickly away to his companion, along with a sad duty that burdened one's heavy heart.

……………..

He knew.

She knew he knew.

King Thranduil sat in a chair beside the fiery hearth, his hands folded in his lap. She sat at attention opposite him, her hands also in her lap but held together so tightly the fingers were numb. He had offered her something to drink but she had declined. Now Amoran wished that she had accepted; it would have made things infinitely easier. It would have eased her nerves, softened the blow, and given her something she could handle. Thranduil had a goblet to his side; he took a sip before speaking to her. Idly, she wondered if this was as difficult for him as it was for her. Or perhaps he was merely making it harder on her. Of course, she couldn't think of why either of those would be the case.

"I do not claim to know you," he said in a soft voice that with a turn could command a legion to arms. His voice reminded her of Legolas' own gentle timbre; both had a beautiful power that could steal so much from her with so little effort. "Still, I wonder, do you verily care so little for your own daughter?"

So, he _did_ know. Her breath caught at the realization even though she had known that he knew. It was the inescapability of the situation that stole away her heart's beating for a breath. What was to become of her and Jasphine now? It had only been a moment, one weakened moment and she would be damned for it. Or, mayhap, she was truly damned for the whole of the affair and it was only that moment that turned the tide and brought her end. Amoran would be stolen from all that she had gained and banished from the company of the Mirkwood Elves to never return. The daughter she gained would be taken from her and she'd have no say in the woman she'd become. Mayhap that was for the better.

A sob broke from her and she hid her face with a quaking hand.

Still, she had begun to hope for more from her daughter. Perhaps through her, she'd be a better woman. Yes, Legolas would remember her as a thief that stole more from him than he would have offered but there had been the chance that Jasphine would have remembered her as a kind woman, a gentle mother. Now, Jasphine would only know her as an abandoner and no one would explain what she was to Legolas. Except, mayhap, for Legolas. Would he truly have the heart to explain that with a kiss he stole Jasphine's mother from her, all for something less than love and more than lust?

"Then you do not deny what has reached my knowing," Thranduil stated and Amoran could not see his face as hers was hidden with shame.

She shook her head.

Amoran could hear him draw a breath and give a long, weary sigh. "Do you claim to know my son?"

She pulled her hand away from her face and looked to the king. He sat in his oversized chair, a daunting figure swathed in garnet, gold, and shadow. His eyes were bright in the darkness and held hers with a weight that tugged at her soul, forcing her to swallow it back down in fear that he could tear whatever knowledge he wished from her heart. "No," Amoran answered finally, dejectedly, into the silence before the fire cracked in the hearth. "I know very little of your son."

Thranduil nodded his head once in understanding.

"But I know of Legolas," she said on the heels of his acceptance. "The Elf, not the son of a king."

"Then let us speak of both," Thranduil commanded. "When Legolas sees a wrong he may right, what does he do?"

"He makes it right." Amoran touched her cheek with the back of her hand, her skin hot to the touch. Thranduil nodded wisely and glanced into the fire.

"Tell me about those he lets himself care for," he continued on, not looking at her but expecting her to do as he said without further provocation.

"He defends them. He hates to see them hurt. He doesn't let them get hurt. He . . . He tries to make everything right for them."

"What if they do something wrong?"

"I don't understand, my lord."

The fire caught in the gold of his hair, causing it to shimmer in the shadow. He was a brilliant sight, alike to the greatness she saw in Legolas. They were two great Elves that Amoran knew she had no business dallying with; still she remained before them, a different woman in their eyes. He looked to her and she glanced down, her eyes finding the floor of interest. His gaze was too heavy on her, too proud and too magnificent; there was a nobility there that she dared not touch. The same nobility was buried somewhere deep inside of Legolas but he bore it with grace and gentle acceptance, not the iron hand of power.

"What if they do something wrong and the wrong is his own, as well?"

"Now you're talking about what we did," Amoran stated simply, glancing up momentarily. She expected an affirmation, a nod, a something from the king but received nothing in return but a question.

"Would he protect her?"

"My lord –."

"Even from his father? His king?" he interrupted her as if she had not spoken at all. "Yes, I see you are beginning to understand my quandary."

He wasn't angry, or at least not that she could tell. He was afraid. The king was afraid of what the mortal thief could have done to his family. He feared her tearing it apart. Yes, Legolas did right wrongs when he saw them and protected those he valued from them. But would he dare protect her from a king they crossed? Thranduil was his father and sons crossed their fathers but Thranduil was also his king and not one to be crossed, even by his own son.

There could be dissention between them. Over her. A mortal dalliance.

She was wrong. King Thranduil was mad because that very threat was before him and there was only so much he could do about it without it coming to pass. What could he do about it?

"What shall you do with me then?" Amoran asked, "What do you want for me to tell Legolas? I tried to tear myself from his side and he brought me home to Mirkwood. I already tried to tell him I cared for him not, used him, and he embraced me against the wishes of his own king and father. Do you wish for me to tell Legolas that I hate him and never wish to see him again, so that you may take both him and my daughter from me and leave me with _nothing_? My lord, I have gone against your wishes but please do not be cruel."

He looked to her with an intensity born of the ages and for once she held her chin high, her will to not break before him strong. If one moment of weakness could damn then mayhap one moment of strength could spare her great pain. Perhaps it did for Thranduil smiled slightly as if seeing something of liking in her and she could not find it in her to return the gesture.

"It is never my intention to be a cruel ruler. Power is a privilege not a right, one I hold in all seriousness. I am even known to show mercies. I plan to show you mercy, Amoran," he said.

"Mercy, my lord?" she said, unable to understand of what he may be speaking.

"I shall relinquish the right of our bargain. The babe is yours. Yet," he held up a hand to her smile, "I have my demands."

"Of course," Amoran said, biting her lip in her anxiousness to know what he demanded.

"Leave. Now. Never return. I shall have you escorted to the fringes of the forest, but from there," he shrugged his shoulders, "I wish to know nothing more of you. I wish Legolas to know nothing of you. I love my son and if he believes that I influenced your leaving in any manner, though he shall obey me, he shall not forgive me. It will be an impediment to our relationship. I cannot and shall not have that. Not for you."

Amoran swallowed as she thought. "You're generosity is great, my lord," she said, fighting down the twisting in her gut. It felt like something was being torn away from inside of her and pulled harshly this way and that.

She couldn't have Legolas.

It was as simple as that.

Yet, Amoran knew not where to go or what to do with herself. Yes, it was a great mercy to not take the babe from her but it was also a great burden and strain. She knew how to take care of herself in the world outside of the Mirkwood forest but she knew not how to take care of a child firstly.

"Am I such a threat, my lord?" she asked, catching Thranduil's eyes and lowering her brow in question.

"Legolas is all I have left here," Thranduil answered with a brutal honesty. "And I shall not relinquish my hold on him. I shall not lose him to a mortal, Amoran. Especially if he thinks he loves her and she thinks she doesn't love him."

Amoran bowed her head in understanding, momentarily raising a hand to her mouth, suddenly finding it quite dry and her stomach ill at ease. "Then you shall never see me again."

"I know," he said with an eerie finality. "Good night, Amoran. I hope you find pleasant dreams awaiting you."

She nodded and quickly found her feet. Soon the darkness of King Thranduil's study left her behind and the labyrinth of stony halls led her back to her daughter and the packing of her various possessions. For a short while, Amoran considered composing Legolas a note, but that would have flirted with the line of her agreement with Thranduil. That was for the better, she couldn't have written one anyway. Instead she was left to her thoughts. She wondered if she was a bad person for wondering if Jasphine was worth leaving Legolas behind. It mattered little; she was the only thing she had left in any matter. Amoran would have to be thankful for what she had but that had always been a challenge for the woman.

…………..

The horses pawed the compacted earth beneath their hooves uneasily, expectant of the ride and chase ahead. It was early morn, so early that the sun had yet to rise outside the protection of the king's stone palace to chase the nightly chill away. A group of the best hunters that Mirkwood had to offer were gathered in the king's stables, brushing the dirt from the mounts' backs and braiding manes to fall away from the eyes. These were Nichae's hunters, ready to follow another the following days. Legolas had ridden amongst them before and knew that he would enjoy riding with them again. Still, he was uncertain as to why Nichae, himself, would not be joining them.

Amoran stood outside of the stall where Legolas was leading his steed out of, holding Jasphine in her arms and worrying her lip nervously, her eyes downcast. Legolas glanced sidelong at his fellows and wished they were alone so that he may have persuaded her to tell him what weighed her thoughts so heavily so early in the morning.

"Do not worry for my sake, Amoran," he whispered to her and her head lifted quickly at the sound of his voice. Her hair was free of its usual braid and fell in a twisted almost knotted fair amongst her shoulders. Jasphine played with her mother's free locks eagerly, twisting and tugging almost painful to see at times.

"What do you mean?" she whispered back after a pause, pulling the child's hand out of her hair.

"I shall return to you soon. The hunt shall take no more than several days. Even a mortal can wait so long for her lover's return," he teased but she frowned in return and his small smile fell as well.

"Hush," she bid, eyes cast about. "You're too bold. Just imagine who could be listening."

"Do not fear. I would never let any hurt come upon you or your own by my account," Legolas said, smiling again hoping to bring some cheer to her forlorn features.

"I know . . . Forgive me, I feel like I shall never see you again," she said and Legolas could not help but give a soft chuckle.

"Never see me again? Now you are being silly. My companions are the best Mirkwood has to offer. I could not be safer. Now, stop worrying yourself so and wish me a fond farewell even for just a little while," he asked of her, patting his steed once upon the neck and moving so that the horse stood between them and the rest of his party.

"I don't want to," she said after some time, her eyes beginning to glisten gently in the flickering flames lighting the stable.

"Are those tears I spy? Amoran, is there something troubling you? Something of which I do not know?" He was becoming quite concerned as he could not understand why his short absence would cause her such seemingly unwarranted distress.

"No," she said shortly, pulling Jasphine higher up on her hip. "I'm just being ridiculous. I've just become too attached to you. I shall recover from it, I assure you."

"Is that so?" he asked as he thought to himself. It seemed odd how Amoran was almost speaking to herself, not to him, and there was a part of him that wished to interrogate her about why she was doing this. She was distancing herself from him again. But there seemed to be no room in her mind for him to plant himself once more. She wished her independence. It was not unexpected from her. Amoran always did like to feel as if beneath it all she was responsible for herself. Perhaps, this was just her fierce spirit showing itself once again. He tried not to show the pang that this caused him as she tore at the bonds between them.

She cleared her throat. "Yes," Amoran sighed and looked away for a moment. "Kiss me."

This caused him pause. "Pardon me; I do not believe I heard you," he said, taking a step closer to her, hiding her from the others with his back to the company.

Amoran looked up to him and rolled her eyes. "You heard what I said."

"Yes," he answered, "but I do not believe it."

"Kiss me," she said in the lowest whisper. "Please. One last time."

"Last time?" Legolas' concern was now reaching a fevered pitch. It sounded as if she were planning something and that he would not care for it. Why else would she hide her plans from him? What was she planning? He opened his mouth to ask just that.

"Before you leave," she added, still in a whisper. "Quick, before anyone sees."

"Amoran," he began but she hushed him with a heavy glance. "If that's what you wish," Legolas ended.

Looking behind him quickly, he saw that all of his company were speaking to each other or their mounts, waiting for their prince to finish unhurried. First, he reached out a hand to Jasphine and laid a kiss gently on the child's brow before surreptitiously raising his face to the mother and laying the softest of touches on her lips. As he pulled back, he felt Amoran push a hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and pull him back down to her to place a kiss on his cheek. When he finally was let loose, he felt a spot of wetness against his cheek where her cheek had been pressed against his own.

"Amoran, if this is causing you such great hurt, I shall not go," he said but she shook her head several times.

"No," she replied. "You must go. I cannot keep you with me forever."

"No, I should think not," he said and pulled his hand from her grasp, not realizing that he had ever taken it in the first place. "Farewell, Jasphine," he bid and the child laughed and reached out towards his face, mumbling something that could have been a farewell. He laughed and took a hold of the tiny hand waving in his face. He let loose of the hand after a moment and raised his hand to Amoran's cheek. "Farewell, Amoran. I shall return to you soon," he said, trying to comfort her best he could.

"Farewell, Legolas. I can always hope," she said and Legolas forced himself to smile.

Soon, the road opened before him, the company of Elves beside and behind him, following his lead. The hunt seemed like something far in the distance, the worries of the moment overwhelming his thoughts. He turned only once in his seating to catch a glimpse of Amoran standing on the trail with those left behind. She stood holding Jasphine close to her chest, resting her cheek on the top of the child's head. So forlorn did she seem that everything within him told him that he should turn from his path and return to her and make her explain what she had planned against them both. Surely she could not do great harm in the time he must be taken from her. What could one mortal maid do to an Elf lord in a matter of days?

………..

Please review and let me know what you think. It matters a lot to my muse and when she's happy my writing seems to flow more nicely. And we all know that all the writer cares about is appeasing her muse . . . and her readers, of course.

Replies To Reviewers of the Last Update:

Albinofrog88: No, as you saw, I did not kill Jasphine. It was just fun making you think I may have. Yeah, Ardel's a smartass, but I love him. A lot of people do. He's actually on my friends List; a list of men that are hers if she ever comes across them. Yes, you're right, I wrote Thranduil as already highly expecting Amoran's answers, so no, he didn't feel as if he were truly risking losing his son to the mortal. If he didn't believe that he could handle the situation, he wouldn't have risked it. And yes, I was a little peeved when fanfiction suspended me. I just have no idea how they found out either. I mean they would've had to have gone to my story and read over four hundred pages or someone had to have tattled on me. It's probably the latter. If so, phooey to whoever did that. Thank you for the review, dear. It's always a pleasure to hear your thoughts.

Zola: Thank you for your sympathy concerning the fanfiction archive. I'm glad you like the complications. I think they're what makes the story interesting for me. The forbidden quality does add to the angst of the situation, doesn't it? I enjoyed that little twist myself. Now that you've read this part of the chapter, I hope you appreciate the power of their emotions as much as you liked their self-control. Thank you for all the wonderful things you said about my story. It really makes me feel wonderful and want to write more, faster. I'm glad that you enjoyed their last conversation, I was not sure if I had hit the right mark. Thank you again for your review. Each one means so much to me.

AngryCupcake: Sorry for leaving you with a cliff hanger! I couldn't help myself! I suppose the ending for this part of the chapter could be considered a cliff hanger, as well. So let me say sorry for leaving you with another cliff hanger. But aren't they fun? Thank you for the review. Your enthusiasm helps my muse.

Just a Reader: Hello, dear. I'm glad to see you're still following my little tale. "OMG YOU UPDATED" I can't tell you how much that made me smile. I'm sorry I left you with only rereading my chapters but if it makes you feel better while you rereading chapters, I was rereading the whole story. I felt like with such a massive piece as this has turned out to be, one can easily lose oneself amongst it all. So, rereading it really helped me re-establish touch with what the story had begun as and how far Legolas and Amoran have come. Thank you for all you said about the last chapter, it really helped urge me on when I was writing the second part of that chapter. I always love hearing from you, thank you again.

Ashley: Well, it's so nice to hear from new readers. Thank you for all the very nice things you said about me and about my story. I'm blushing over here. I'm so happy that you like my story so much. I'm sorry it took so long to update. The last scene in this part was hard for me to start writing. I don't know why. I think it was because I knew I had to strike a certain chord of gloom on Amoran's behalf and still pull off an unknowing Legolas. Do you understand what I mean? Sorry about the last cliffhanger; I couldn't help myself. Again, I'm sorry it took me so long to put forth an update. Thank you for sharing your thoughts. They really do help me with my writing, even if only as encouragement.

Casey: Yeah, I know it was a big cliff hanger. I couldn't help myself. Really, I couldn't. Has it been two and a half years already? Wow. That's a long time. To imagine that I still remember the night that my friend dared me to write a Legolas/OFC. This all came about from one night's raving on my part about how hard it was to find a good Legolas/mortal fanfic. I was just so intrigued by the prospect of an immortal/mortal relationship with less than perfect people that I've actually gone on to write a short story entitled Woman of the Night which is hardly a romance while still containing such and the same vein runs through my novel, which is still untitled after at least a year and a half. How did I get so off track? See, I just love talking to my readers so much I could go on for a very long time indeed. That's probably why some of my best friends online were originally readers of mine. Anyways, I'm sure chatty today. Thank you again for the review, I loved receiving it. I hope you enjoyed this part as well.

Lady Tremere: I love receiving such lengthy reviews. It's just difficult for me to properly reply to them. No problem about how long it took you to get to read the last part. I knew it was on your to-do list. Kind of like how your story is on mine. I promise you that. What's holding me back is that every time I get some free time, I look up your story and end up having to look up where I was at. Because I can't remember for the life of me where I was. And every time I get nearer to where I was at, something takes me away from the computer. It's really very annoying. ""I want Amoran and Legolas together!" mentality that I just cannot help." But I loved it when you were in that mentality because you seemed so put out whenever it seemed as if they wouldn't be. LOL. Yes, Amoran is a terribly tragic character. I can't help but feel sorry for her. She's not a nice character but she still doesn't deserve so much grief, me thinks. And you're very right about the emptiness idea. Thank you so much for what about my writing. That was so sweet. It really makes me feel like I may be able to pull off the ending that I have in mind, which of course requires all those qualities that you mentioned. Thank you again for the review. It meant so much to me and your thoughts are always held in the highest regard.

Jedi Knight Bus: A new reader! Yay! I'm glad that you enjoyed the story so much. Thank you so much for what you said about my writing and the story. I'm sorry that it took so long to update. I had some trouble with the last scene of this part as I knew I had to pull off a certain sadness and bewilderment. I can't wait to hear what you think of this part. I put a lot of thought into it. Thank you again for your review.

Sea-Breeze26: I'm glad that you enjoy my story so. I hope you like this latest part as much as the rest. I look forward to hearing more from you, even if just to know that I didn't let you down. Thank you for the review, they mean a lot to my muse.


	33. Final Grace of his Path

Chapter Thirty-One: Part Three

……………

Legolas was gone. Yet, Amoran was the one who was truly leaving. It was a beautiful, early summer day. There was a sweet breeze passing by the opening of the cave where the Mirkwood Elves made their home. They were preparing for a summer festival. This one apparently lasted longer than the winter festival Amoran enjoyed. The preparations began weeks in advance and the sweets flavored the air in holiday. Off in a small grove where the light broke through the thatch of the forest ceiling, Amoran and Nichae stood with two horses. She was repositioning Jasphine in a sling while Nichae spoke in his native tongue to the horses that were quiet and responsive; nodding their heads and tossing their manes.

"I am unsure of what to say."

Amoran looked up from Jasphine's sleeping face to Nichae and smiled. "Do you have to say anything, Nichae?"

He smiled in reply and led the saddled horse to Amoran's side. "It only seems right. I feel like I am stealing you away."

"Don't," she said simply.

"Lireal said that yours was a tragic romance and that we should try to ease your pain in whichever fashion possible. She said that I should lend myself to your position," he said, his eyes on the horse, almost uncomfortable with speaking to Amoran his wife's words.

"First I was a barkeep's daughter. Then I was a thief. Then I was a woman with a price.Now I am a tragedy. Sometimes I wonder why. Why this? Why me? Why do I do this to me? There were moments in between where there was a promise of something more. And each time, I distanced the person who could have given it to me. There was Halla. When I happened upon him, he could have saved me. I still could have turned back. I was young enough then. I could have gone home. But instead, like the little thief I am, I tried to steal from him. And I forced him to brand me. There certainly was no going back from that. Then there was Jasphine. A horrible situation gave me a daughter and I abandoned her. I could have been a real mother. And then there was Legolas . . . I still do not understand what I did wrong. I had an Elven prince! But I still wanted more. I am no tragedy, Nichae. I am selfish and greedy and a horrible example of Man." Amoran paused and was surprised to feel tears in her eyes. She took a long breath before adding, "I disgust me."

"He loves you," Nichae said, patting the horse without thought. "In some fashion."

Amoran went still.

"He has never said that," she replied, pointing a finger at Nichae. She could hear her heart in her ears. Her blood was pounding. There was no reason for her to be taking these words with such intensity. "And it is not your place to say."

"I can see it in his eyes."

"Should we not be on our way already?"

"His father saw it too."

"'Tis nearly midday. I knew we should have left last night."

"That is what King Thranduil feared, what he saw in Legolas. Not in you."

Amoran sighed. "Why are you saying this, Nichae?"

Nichae looked back to the horse as if he was going to talk to it again, instead of Amoran. Normally, she wouldn't mind because the Elf seemed quite taken with the animals. But now she felt tormented by what the Elf was saying and he didn't even have the decency to look her in the eye.

"To answer your why," he replied. "This time, it was not you that took you from the person that could have saved you and it was not your fault. You cannot be held responsible for what the king saw in Legolas. This time, it simply was not meant to be."

"How bold of you, Nichae," Amoran said, placing a hand on Jasphine's head. "To speak so openly of your king's motives and your prince's love. Some would say you are being too bold."

"I only wish to ease your pain."

"That is not why you are here," she replied, bending her neck and kissing Jasphine on the top of the head. "You are here to take me away. Mayhap it is time you do just that."

"Shall that make this hurt any less?" he asked and Amoran knew he actually cared. For some reason, that helped.

"Nothing can," she said simply.

Nichae nodded his head and Amoran sighed. He held onto the reigns while helping her mount the horse. She adjusted herself for long travel's comfort and repositioned Jasphine so the child rested in her lap and was held against her mother with the sling. When she was finished, Nichae handed her the reigns and mounted his own horse. As they set out upon the path leading away from the Halls of the Elven King, Amoran thought she could hear the divine voices of the Elves singing from their stone prison amongst the darkness of Mirkwood and the light of the summer holiday to come. The sweetness on the air was the last to leave her as the darkness descended and the path grew tight. It was the last thing Amoran would remember of the halls when cold nights would steal upon her broken youth and when she would tell her daughter about the Elven King and mayhap one day about the prince. No. She would never tell Jasphine about the prince. He was just for her.

……………….

His mind had been lost to the hunt for days that were as significant as a moment and as an eternity. He and his companions had ridden long but with endless care in a forest dark as night, quickly forgetting there ever was a sun, only hanging onto the memory of its light. Then he caught sight of his prey. Everyone else saw it as a flicker of shadow amongst shadow but he had seen enough of it to hunger that it was there. Barely sparing his fellows thought or word, he tore away from them with a dangerous lack of caution that he knew better than indulging. But this had been what he had been longing for, waiting for and he shrugged away the grasping voice of restraint. For many breaths, he could not see what he was hunting, but he followed anyway. And when he despaired that there had perhaps been nothing there at all, he caught sight of another promising flicker, a shadow light amongst the rest. Enough of a taste to chase, but to never sate. Even with those flickers, even when he was sure he was following something, he was still unsure of what that something was and if it was worth this following in the end. He heard his fellows chasing after him and he trusted them to know they were close enough to find him. Finally they called after him and for some reason it cut through. He had just seen another flicker and it was close, close enough for him to pause and wait.

'My lord! Please!' Ardel called to him, his voice strident with cold urgency. It was that coldness that shocked his hot blood and pulled him back enough to listen. 'Look about you!'

When he did, Legolas fell into himself, a chill crawling underneath his skin at the disturbance replacing the unnatural heat. He had done the one thing that no one was afforded any longer to do in Mirkwood, to lose one's head to the hunt. It was not that it did not happen; only that it rarely did and if one survived it, one learned to never do it again.

One of his fellows was breathing heavily in the chase, or perhaps in fear of Legolas' urgency in it. This fellow held forth the lantern he had lit back upon the path. Its light was small but it was more than enough to set the darkness awash in veins of significance.

'Webs,' he said in a voice without feeling, eyes wide as he looked upon the webs spread before him in the darkened trees. The spider he could not see, but that did not mean it was not hidden there. 'I almost led myself into webs after something I thought I saw. And how many of you would have followed me?' Legolas looked back belatedly and saw fleeting glances between them, a flicker on each of their features defined as much by Mirkwood's shadow as by meaning.

'We do not have to follow you in to pull you out, cousin,' Ardel replied.

As Legolas led them away and back to the path, he could not deny that this hunt did remind him of Amoran to a sickening degree. They had nothing to do with each other in actuality, but theoretically it was the same. He could not look to Ardel though he knew his cousin close enough to see, because Legolas did not need to be reminded of his pursuit's significance. In a strangely distant voice, he heard himself order their return to his father's halls. They halfheartedly warned him that he would be returning empty-handed but he didn't care. For some time, they traveled in silence and it was easy for him to believe he was not only returning to his father empty-handed but alone. Part of him wished that today had happened in some more recently far-off yesterday, before he met Amoran and perhaps he could have spared himself the spider-less webs he had wove between them. Part of him was glad that he hadn't. He liked to think it was because he would not so easily spare himself the joys he found in Amoran. More likely though it was the fear that it still would not have mattered and he would still be left alone knowing that he knew better. However, slowly Elven song insinuated itself around him and instead of being swallowed by the shadows around them, it was defined by it and seemed to be echoed back to them by the trees lost to all but the Elves and the darkness.

Legolas took some comfort in his people's song, knowing himself far from alone and he returned with his life in excuse of his momentary folly. His father would never consider that to be empty-handed. Still, he could not shake a numb pang somewhere inside himself that had yet to be fully realized. Legolas knew that he would always wonder over that flicker. He would always crave to have followed it to its end and seen what it had been. His curiosity would ever torment him and because he had never seen it realized, there'd be a part of him that would be utterly sure that it would have been a catch worthy, a catch to be proud of. Though he knew better, Legolas would always resent his cousin some small bit for stealing it from him.

………………….

The war was over.

They had stood before the very Gates of Mordor and threw caution into the dead wind with their challenge of a Dark Lord they knew it was not their place to unmake. Their job was to distract, to draw Sauron's eye away from the heart of his keep, to give two hobbits a chance to do what no army could.

Against all odds the might of Mordor fell though, through the confusion, bloodshed, and earthshaking terror, it seemed like an eternity until anyone realized it. As everything came to an unnatural still for an infinite moment with focus so brilliant it was painful, everyone thought they were dead. Even Legolas, Gimli remembered; whose beautiful face had held eyes of unnatural brightness lifted to the dark sky, as unmoving and unbreathing as the most finely crafted statue. With weapons caught mid-motion, grime and blood sharpening his features into something fey, he seemed deadly but not alive. And then in the silence, something broke.

Relief.

So long had many been starved for it, that its realization felt more unnatural than the prospect of death. A cheer ran through the men, a sounding so loud Gimli's ears buzzed. He looked to his Elven companion, expecting to see pain for though Gimli would never admit it, he knew Legolas' ears to be much keener than his own.

However, Gimli did not see pain on Legolas' fair face. He saw a sea of such unfamiliar emotion that its tide seemed to have born the Elf far away. Legolas heard nothing but was not lost to the moment. He was embracing it behind his eyes, letting it wash over him. It was the strangest, unsettling, and yet most unexpectedly beautiful thing to witness amidst such death and destruction.

A small, knowing smile broke as Legolas opened his eyes and looked to him with kindness and respect tinged in an ever present sadness that Gimli had always attributed to his Elvishness. Now that he knew his friend better, he realized that sadness to taste differently than Elvish melancholy. It was born from some strange reticence. A caution to not smile too brightly, not look too closely, not laugh too heartily, not realize the risky love of anything, and most certainly not to speak too much of why. Gimli knew he was not the only one to see it. Surely others had tried to speak of it to him in some roundabout way to take him unknowing. But Legolas was proud and stubborn; far too clever for such tactics.

Gimli was also proud and stubborn but possessed a bluntness that always seemed to throw the Elf off balance and cause him to drop his sharp wit. None of that would matter of course if it were not the right time. He had learned quickly that for an Elf, everything was a matter of timing. So he embraced patience and waited; watching for sign of his moment.

Minas Tirith was alive in the night, dancing under stars unusually bright with voices rising in tones of new hope, though they seemed the slightest bit coarse from sudden overuse. Except for the Elves. They had spent millennia doing nothing more than singing odes to leaves, stars, and spoons. Well, Gimli had never heard an Elf sing to a spoon, but it seemed like something he could expect them to do. The air was deliciously sweet and after the long smell of dead things, it seemed thrown even more surely into sharp relief. Still, the sweetness couldn't quite do away with the smell of burning. But Gimli did not mind the slight smell of smoke in the air, from the large pyres, necessary cooking fires, and the thousands of candles flickering in the night. No, though the Elves seemed slightly uncomfortable with it and their eyes, bright with joviality and perhaps a little of their overly saccharine wine, would travel about them a bit nervously.

"I know not whether to take offense or compliment that it seems every time I am in an Elf's presence other than yours, he looks around as if expecting more Dwarves to pop out from the very earth about him," Gimli grumbled to Legolas around the rim of his pint. The Elf smiled at him a little too perfectly. He had always thought that smile looked fake when he had first met Legolas, too pretty and well placed, but underneath it, he always suspected with a little jealousy that it was more true than not. But not this smile or any of the smiles of this night. They looked so pretty that he suspected there was some unseen ugliness behind them and Gimli wondered that if he were to tap at it as he would a seemingly untested stone, he would find a fault running inconsistently.

"Nay, 'tis not you, dear Gimli," Legolas replied, turning away from the sight of Aragorn and his new bride. His voice seemed the tiniest bit off; the first echo Gimli recognized calling back his suspicions from his first tap. "For they know you to be of the Fellowship; a true Elf-friend in our eyes."

"Perhaps in yours, Legolas," he said, "but I am still left unsure whether your folk truly look at things with the same eyes as you."

"If they do not, in time they will come to see. Yet, can you say that your folk would look upon me with any less unease?"

"Nay," Gimli reluctantly admitted into his ale. Legolas looked away momentarily, to Arwen and then to Aragorn, separately. Elessar, Gimli had to remind himself, though his friend would always be Aragorn. He watched as the Elf turned his eyes purposefully upon his own kind.

"They are searching for green things amongst the stone," Legolas continued. The change of topic seemed a bit deliberate in Gimli's opinion, but he allowed it. "'Tis distressing for us. Mayhap we feel displaced amongst this city of Men."

"Fortuitous it seems then," Gimli said with insight, "that the stars are so very bright."

Legolas looked up north towards the sky quietly for a long moment. He appeared to be looking at something in particular; one star among the rest. "Seems to me not the least bit unexpected."

Gimli grumbled in his chest, slightly ruffled at the perceived insult.

His friend looked to him and blinked several times in succession, as if trying to catch up from where he lost himself to his musings. Legolas quickly explained, "Earendil." He swallowed and flickered his gaze across the room, jumping over Arwen smiling at her Estel. His eyes fell upon Elrond's guarded but kindly face in a spell of understanding. "No doubt the lord has no small need for a knowing light in such a gray joy."

Gimli cleared his throat and mumbled something that he couldn't quite remember, but he could still hear Legolas' clear laughter with his own throaty chuckle in memory. His attention was diverted by the Hobbits discussing genealogy with Lord Celeborn.

"So that makes you and Lady Galadriel second cousins!" Pippin said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, looking right-pleased with himself. Celeborn nodded while taking a sip from his goblet. His eyes searched out his wife, almost entreatingly. Galadriel laughed and turned to continue a conversation with one of her grandsons, ignoring her husband's plight; it was difficult for Gimli to distinguish which twin she was speaking with however for they were nigh impossible to tell apart from looks alone. When he tore his eyes from the Lady of Lothlorien to ask Legolas if he bore any distant relation to Galadriel as well, he found his friend long gone.

Gimli harrumphed but took his time finishing his ale. As he watched Pippin draw out his pipe and Lord Celeborn hastily excuse himself at the first sign of it, Gimli's face stretched into a wicked smile with an idea. Luckily, Legolas was not there to see it, for if he had, he would have quickly hidden himself amongst his Elven companions, finding safety in numbers. However, instead he had already stolen away with himself alone. The Dwarf reached a hand inside his jerkin and felt that his pipe was still where he had stashed it away. Looking over to where he knew his friend would have disappeared into, he laughed to himself, deep with sole conspiracy. Several persons nearby looked to him strangely, not seeing reason for his sudden amusement. Sam glanced over but knew better than to become involved. Galadriel however caught Gimli's eyes with curiosity. He delivered her a sly wink before removing himself from the cluster of the wedding celebration into the night after his unsuspecting friend, Galadriel's quick laughter being tucked away into his mind for safekeeping.

Several armed guards nodded their heads at him with respect as he made his way in the late of the night towards a familiar spot. Here the wall separating the top tier of Minas Tirith ran twice as tall as Gimli. Thus, the view it offered was lost to the Dwarf, but his Elven companion seemed vastly fond of it. Of course, he saw things that Gimli could not unless guided in his efforts of seeing past the stonework. Still, he could imagine that it offered the best view of things beyond the mortal city about them. Starlight cast a long shadow making the wall seem larger than it was, yet also more ephemeral, alike some indistinct ghostly image bleeding out from the sky where the wall cut across it in the Dwarf's perception.

With a grunt, Gimli sat himself down at its base. He pulled out his pipe and his small hidden treasury of pipe weed, speaking to it in undertone as he drew a large pinch out and stuffed it in the pipe. After closing the pouch and setting the pipe carefully aside, he pulled a piece of flint from inside his belt.

"Where are you now?" he muttered to himself as he began searching inside the tops of his boots. "Ah, ha ha! There you are!" he said as he pulled out a short twig that he had stashed inside his boot for just this purpose. Gimli ignored the sensation of the air disturbed above him, as if someone were shifting, leaning over to glance at him. He cleared his throat and turned towards the wall to his side, striking at it a couple times with the flint to light the twig. Quickly tucking away the flint and grabbing the pipe, he lit it with the twig, drawing on the pipe and puffing with satisfaction. With a practiced motion, Gimli shook the twig's little flame out, tapped it to his tongue, before sticking it back in his boot to use later. Sighing and letting out a long, wispy trail of smoke, he leaned back into the stone embrace of the wall behind him. He soon found a rhythm that he knew would work perfectly into his plans.

Puff. Puff. Puff.

Long savoring of the burning in his chest, forcing it down, causing the moment to last, delicious with unnatural heat.

Puff.

Exhale . . .

There was the tiniest cough from above.

Gimli had to swallow his smile in order to draw on the pipe again.

Puff. Puff. Puff.

Savor it, the burning, hold onto the unnatural moment.

Puff.

Exhale . . . .

There was a far more conspicuous cough at that. It almost sounded purposefully louder than needed. The Dwarf was sure victory was imminent. He was about to do something with a few puffs of pipe weed that the Dark Lord hadn't been able to do with all the might of his foul creatures.

Puff. Puff . . .

Very loud, distinct cough from near above him.

Puff.

"Gimli!" Legolas' normally melodic voice snapped.

"Hmm?" he hummed, stealing one more long draw.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Gimli chuckled, raising his head as if to look to where Legolas was speaking to him from but it was really to aim, before blowing large, sweeping tendrils of smoke into the night sky, so that for a moment, the stars blurred. "Smoking out an Elf."

After waiting another moment for Legolas to reply, he shrugged and began to draw at his pipe again.

"Should you continue this, I cannot be held responsible for my actions," his Elven friend said from above, a slight jest in his tone, yet enough seriousness beside it to cause Gimli to pause.

"Such as?"

He could almost hear Legolas smile, in that completely evil, Elven way that caused Gimli's blood to run cold. "Such as launching your pipe into the east from the very top of Minas Tirith."

Gimli squinted his eyes. "You would not dare . . ."

"Do Dwarves have such fragile memories that you cannot remember what happened the last time our conversation ran thus?" Legolas paused. "I dare say; Aragorn is a bit too preoccupied with his bride to save your pipe this time. It shall be halfway to what is left of Mordor before you can rally the hobbits and Gandalf to your side to form your own little Fellowship of the Pipe."

Gimli paused to consider, contemplating whether it would be worth the energy of a righteous fit and price of replacing a pipe in order to call the Elf's bluff. Deciding however that with Legolas it was unlikely to be much of a bluff and it would deter him from his original purpose, he grumbled but wisely sat the pipe aside for later. And it was rather unlikely that he'd be able to convince the hobbits or the wizard to join any further Fellowship for a goodly long time. In fact, poor Frodo may find some dark corner and start whimpering to himself at the mere mention of a return trip to Mordor. Dark lord or not. Even if Gimli were to try such a thing, Sam would kill him.

Of course, he knew that if he forced the issue, Legolas would make good his threats. However, he was also just as certain that should he pine for that particular pipe, given to him by his father long ago, Legolas would be the first to be waiting for him with Arod in the courtyard the next morning. He'd go with Gimli to Mordor again even if it were he that launched the pipe in the first place.

"There shall be a great deal of sorely disappointed people as soon as your absence is realized," Gimli continued, "which was mayhap, oh, nigh when you left."

"You exaggerate, my friend," Legolas replied from above, annoying Gimli a bit that he held on to such a lofty perch. "None shall take notice of my absence for long."

Gimli could only snort indelicately at this. "The king and queen will not retire before bidding the both of us a personal goodnight. Whatever shadow is chasing upon your heels, best you speak of it now, else no matter what you say in a well-wished goodnight, it shall speak through to them of your disturbance. Do not think it shall not in some small way disturb them in turn. You are their friend."

"Are you offering to chase away my nightmares, dear Gimli?" Legolas teased, contained laughter adding to some type of brittle quality. Not to say that his voice did not lend itself some power, great strength; it simply felt a little too frantically composed. Whenever faced with such a tonality, Gimli had been taught to leave it alone, a rock not fit to be chipped at. Against his instincts, he decided to continue. Should it end badly, the two of them could simply act as if it never happened, as they had done for certain other things before.

"Does your kind even have nightmares?" Gimli asked. "Are not Elves too perfectly pleasant for such things?"

"Nay, we do not have nightmares for we do not even dream," he explained, in a voice that could have been termed contemplative or cautious. "Not as mortals do."

"Oh? Then what, pray tell, is going on in that silly head of yours while you claim to be resting?"

"We have visions," Legolas described, "A mixture of memories of the past and fancies for the future. We have to craft them together, plucking or imagining every moment from whence we find it within ourselves. Binding it fast around us, for a time outside of time, we save the things we thought lost to us and create those that were never ours. It can be as real or as unreal as we make it. We can live how we would will it. We can also trick ourselves into dying if we wish it. There is a very fine line between our dalliance with sweet fantasy and our abandon to melancholy fading. It is a dangerous thing for an Elf to dream."

"Should that be your way to dream," Gimli replied with a discomforted chuckle, "tell me naught of your equal of nightmare."

"They are the same thing."

Gimli grunted, for lack of any more eloquent response, knowing it unwise for him to try for it. Legolas was quiet for some time. Finally, Gimli looked up at a shifting of shadow and light in time to see his friend dangle one of his legs down over the wall towards him. From the angle, the Elf had to be lying on his back along the wall. His leg swung a bit and the toe of his boot gently nudged Gimli on the shoulder. He pushed it away with feigned roughness, knowing it was his friend's gentle retribution for the Dwarf's earlier smoke act.

"They do look happy," Legolas said in a gentle voice that carried. "One cannot help but smile in the face of their joy."

"Aye."

"And battle jealousy at their backs," he added almost as an afterthought, though Gimli didn't believe that. The sentiment shocked him in the admission. Jealousy was such an ugly thing and looking at the Elf, he wouldn't have thought someone of Legolas' infinity would be the one to harbor it. Though Dwarves had always grumbled that it was such petty sentiments that guided the Elves; jealous as they were of beauties only Dwarves wrought. Gimli told him as much and Legolas laughed. "Yes, my friend, mayhap we are more often jealous than we would like to think. Of little moments, little pearls of time, that we often overlook in a sea of eternity. Too often, the tides pull them away ere we have a chance to realize what they are." He laughed again. "The sea seems to have that same pull on my thoughts of late, pounding relentlessly against my every resistance. Pulling things away from me that I both cherish and would never have confessed were ever a part of me."

"I would think that the Elves would consider this much of a tragedy," Gimli replied. "Their Evenstar pledging herself to her mortal love's fate."

"Death is the hardest for the undying," Legolas explained simply. "Arwen is no longer one of us. Surely she still sees death as regrettable. However not because of what she shall suffer from her death but of how those who love her shall. When living eternity is expected, forever is not the gift, but finding something or someone worth forsaking it is."

"That is what you envy of them," Gimli answered more than asked.

"From the first time I heard of the Evenstar and her Estel, I wanted a part of that. Not a part of them, but a part of that grace. I once almost convinced myself that I might possess it. I tried to recreate it for myself, though at the time, I was so confused by the rush that I did not realize that was what I was doing. It was as unfair to her as it was to me. What saddens me to such a depth that I cannot tell is the thought that perhaps I was her moment of grace though I know now that she was not mine. It gladdens me now as it did not then that my father took her away before we both realized this. If she still lives -which a great deal of me doubts- she can believe that I pine for her as I am ashamed to say that I do not. I miss her touch, her passions, and the sweetness of her beating heart underneath my palm, as if each pulse was a moment of time tearing away at her. I remember her kindly and with regret. I tried to convince myself and for a time almost did that I could find something in her to define me. Though, if I had been thinking properly, I would have realized that she shied from even defining herself. Yet, I could not stand the thought of waiting for that to come to me. I wanted to make it, force it to be mine. I despaired that I would be waiting forever. I feared that I would not have the patience for it. In actuality, I had only to wait two score years before it presented itself."

"The Fellowship," Gimli mumbled, not wanting to disturb Legolas out of his confessions with a louder reply.

"Aye," Legolas admitted. "Shame carried me to my moment of grace. Though none at the time would have thought Gollum's escape to have turned to boon. I was given the opportunity in a form I had not thought to look for it in. I would have forsaken my immortality for the Quest," he paused and Gimli could hear the smile in his voice with the next few words, "and my companions. Even my Dwarf companion. Mayhap, especially he, to my father's undying dismay."

"And my own father's," Gimli chuckled.

"Aye, in this matter they are quite agreed."

"To their united horror," he couldn't help but reply. Legolas laughed at the absurd truth in the statement.

"And, of course, I was able to help Aragorn claim his throne so that he could claim his bride. I shall admit to taking no small satisfaction in that. In the end, knowing I had some small part in it." Legolas sighed. "Mayhap I do not have reason for such jealousy, considering that the grace of the Fellowship has brought me much and many to hold dear. Come, my dear friend, let us return to the celebration so that the King and Queen may bid us a hasty goodnight."

He leapt down from the wall to land on his feet with feline grace. Legolas waited for Gimli to grunt and find his way to his feet, never offering a hand. Gimli would be insulted by the offer unless full of drink and Legolas knew he had been neglecting his cup in order to sooth his Elven companion. He appreciated it, though it would go mostly unspoken. As many understandings between them did. Gimli's brow began to knit together in concentration as he thought back on what Legolas had just admitted. They walked together, Legolas tempering his stride to stay by Gimli's side, passing guards that nodded their heads in respect.

"Legolas . . ."

The Elf hummed some response.

"What you said," Gimli continued.

The Elf hummed again, sounding slightly amused.

"It almost sounded as if you were saying you should not envy Arwen and her Aragorn because you have me."

This was met by distinct silence. Legolas still continued walking to his side, but seemed not to realize that Gimli wished a response to this. Infuriating Elf! He seemed to love playing with Gimli's head. Though he knew that was what the Elf was doing, he still couldn't keep his own irritation at the silence in check.

"You are not saying that I am your Aragorn, are you?" he asked with some wariness.

Legolas laughed. "As much as I am your Galadriel," which would have been a reassuring answer if it were not for the fact that it was uttered by a beautiful, tall Elf with hair the color of precious metal. Gimli grumbled about flighty Elves and misbegotten fancies while Legolas laughed by his side, seemingly pleased with so disquieting his companion. Gimli decided to allow a small smile, taking unspoken pleasure in courting Legolas' pure smile and delighted laughter. The shadow would always be there, but with the Elven prince it only served to define his undying light and the grace his path finally lent him.

………………

Finis

……………….

Note to readers:

Almost four years, but I am finished with the story. I have grown a great deal as a writer with this piece. Because of this, I think there is significant disparity between the depths of the piece at the beginning from at the end. Before this work, I was mainly a poet. This was the first piece I wrote that was longer than thirty pages. So this work is special to me because it illustrates how far I've come from nearly four years ago. A great deal of what I have learned from this story, I owe to its readers. Thank you to those who have read this story and replied with your thoughts and suggestions. You are a priceless resource for teaching me how to be a better writer for my readers. So, I admit that I have some regret that I don't believe many of you will be happy with the ending of this story. I am sorry, but I see that this is the only way this story could have ended. I had always planned to not break canon if I could. I enjoy stretching canon, but not breaking it needlessly. Please forgive me if you are irritated with how I ended this. But I didn't see this story ending as the most monumental moment in Legolas' life. I think the Fellowship was (at least until he crosses the sea, but we know little of what happened in Valinor after that). I think the significance of Legolas' relationship with Amoran rests more in how it guided him on the Quest and with his companions, instead of its own romantic credit. Not to say that it was insignificant. Not at all. But it's like what Legolas said towards the end, the relationship was not the same thing to Amoran as it was to him. I think this illustrates how sometimes the importance of the relationship is where it leaves you at its end, not necessarily where it takes you in the run. To Amoran, its importance was in living the relationship and I see her as always holding onto it as the most precious time of her life. To Legolas, its importance was in the wisdom and awareness it brought him about his own motives. Now, I do see some of what he says as being influenced after the fact. The point is that he had to live with his father and king. He loved Thranduil. He'd want to think of his father's actions in the best light, the way Thranduil had actually meant it. So why then would he wish to estrange himself from his father because of something that he wasn't even sure could be and at the time wasn't even sure what he wanted it to be? His feelings for Amoran were genuine but did not run as deeply as they did for his own people and his own family. I think he would realize this after his initial knee-jerk reaction to Amoran's disappearance and act accordingly; rationalizing it to his self in the best way he could live with. No one in this story acted out of true malice. Not Thranduil, for taking Amoran away. Not Ardel, for telling Thranduil about Amoran's indiscretion. Not Amoran, for all her lacking. And not Legolas. It just never had all the makings of a fairy tale. I do plan on going back and changing the chapter set ups, but overall I plan to leave it mostly as it is. I just don't have the heart to go back and change much of the beginning. I hope you all still enjoyed the ride and thank you immensely for your friendship and readership. You and this story have taught me a great deal. If any of you that leave me a review (and each one will be cherished) and wish for me to be able to reply to you, please leave me an email to reach you through. Even if you wish to tell me how horribly I ended the story, I'd still appreciate being able to contact you to thank you for reading and perhaps to discuss how you think I could have improved on it. And of course, this isn't the last fanfiction I'm ever going to write. It's just the last one I'm ever going to post before it's finished. In fact, I have another fanfiction, twisted romance all written up for the Babylon 5 fandom. I will probably be posting that on FF's website soon as well as a couple other archives. If any of you would wish to see it, leave me an email and I'd be happy to arrange for you to be able to read it.

Thank you again. And for all those of my friends and family who told me to just finish the story already, no matter what . . .: Rocks fall and they all die!

Love,

Musedepandora


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